a/n: i wrote this before i rewatched ep 2, so the dialogue is a bit off! i did change some of it to accommodate but it is a rewrite, so i'm trying not to care so much abt it XD anyway, please enjoy!
disclaimer: i don't own dakaichi!
Takato awoke warmer than he'd ever been. It was a stark contrast to his usual mornings—where it was too cold no matter how many blankets he used. He blinked continuously in an attempt to get the sleep crusties out of his eyes and debated on surrendering to the inviting pull of slumber again.
"Good morning, Takato-san," a husky voice murmured, close enough to his ear that it startled him. "How are you feeling?"
Exhaustion bled into confusion. Piece by piece, memories of last night shifted into place until the whole picture formed in his mind:
Azumaya. Him. In the same bed. Kissing. Touching. Aching for more, more, more. Chasing pleasure high after pleasure high, dizzy and flushed on sweat-soaked sheets. Shuddering with the overwhelming intensity of his release.
His face burned red-hot and he pulled the blanket over his head, flustered. His heart did something strange in his chest—flipped and twisted and thrummed, the sensation unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant.
"Nn." He buried his nose into the blanket. "Tired."
"We don't have to go in till one," Azumaya told him. "You could sleep a little more…"
Tempting. It was so warm here, wrapped up in these thick comforters and Azumaya's strong, muscle-sculpted arms. Unfortunately, his stomach chose that moment to announce that it hadn't been fed this morning.
"Or I could make you breakfast," Azumaya told him with a hint of amusement.
Takato buried his face deeper into the comforter. "Shut up. I'll… I'll drink some hot chocolate later."
A pause. "...just hot chocolate? That's not breakfast, Takato-san. That's not even a meal."
"Mm. Don't care."
Another pause followed, although, in Takato's sleepy haze, he wasn't sure how long it lasted. But it was when Azumaya shifted suddenly, pulling away, that he suddenly felt wide awake. He bit down the incredibly desperate where are you going? and eyed Azumaya as he moved, humiliatingly aware of the absence of Azumaya's warmth.
"I'll run you a bath," Azumaya said. "Hm? Takato-san deserves a nice, hot bath."
"...do what you like."
Takato curled up on the bed, trying to sponge up as much warmth as he could. He stilled when something touched the top of his head, quick and soft.
"Okay, Takato-san," Azumaya murmured into his hair. "Rest for a few more minutes, then."
Stupid angel. He couldn't fight the heat in his cheeks. I'm twenty-eight. I'll do whatever I want.
Yet he stayed under the covers, just as Azumaya said. It wasn't until Azumaya returned and announced that the bath was ready, that Takato realised he was dozing again and began to move.
And winced. His hips and thighs ached faintly, and he was pretty certain he knew why.
"But for now… would you prefer a bath? So you don't get as sore?"
Maybe a bath yesterday would've been a good choice. He scowled and kept that thought to himself.
He didn't have to. It seemed Azumaya either saw him wince or read him like an open book, just as he had done yesterday. "I can carry you to the bath if you'd like, Takato-san."
"I can get there myself," Takato said.
"Of course. But this way is less taxing on your body, don't you think so?"
Arms slid beneath his knees and lifted him so effortlessly. Takato's eyes popped wide, his body stiffening, heat rushing to his cheeks and down his neck. "H-hey! Put… put me down!"
Takato knew he didn't have a lot of muscle on him. He was noticeably more slender than Azumaya. That, and he had at least seventeen centimeters on him—not that Takato was counting and no, he absolutely didn't have Azumaya's height memorised from the magazines, no way in hell—and it embarrassed him that the size difference, both in muscle and height, made it this easy for Azumaya to lift him.
Bridal-style. He picked him up bridal style. While he was nude. At least Azumaya now wore pants.
He fumbled for words as Azumaya carried him all the way to the bath, which was, as promised, fully prepared. "Here we are. I'll go make some food for Takato-san."
The way he lowered Takato into the bath was so gentle, so tender, that it caught him by surprise. The steaming heat from the bath had him melting immediately—he'd been so distracted by Azumaya's abrupt actions that he didn't realise how cold he was without the blankets until the chill was gone.
Damned angel. Takato leaned back into the hot bath, slow and careful. A glance to the side showed that Azumaya had already set out towels for him, as well as a fluffy-looking robe. In love with me, huh…
He frowned contemplatively at the tub and blamed the flush in his cheeks on the heat of the water. Stubbornly ignored the rapid thumping of his heart. Let the water drown the ache in his hips and thighs.
Azumaya clung to him at work for the next few days. Persistent as he was, he hadn't been successful in taking Takato home—which hadn't bothered him considering how much attention he gave him during the shoot—until suddenly the attention stopped.
Except it didn't just stop. He learned, rather quickly over the next week, that Azumaya was actively avoiding him.
No. That couldn't be it, right? He'd… he'd been so sincere that night. So respectful. And he'd spent the night caring for Takato—if he'd just wanted to get into his pants, then wouldn't he have focused more on himself? Or did he have more patience and self-control, for which Takato hadn't given him enough credit?
He's an actor, he reminded himself, face carefully clean of emotion as he watched Azumaya speed-walk away from him. And you fell for it, too. Then why isn't he doing a better job hiding it now?
Something unpleasant bubbled underneath his skin, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it refused to fade. Instead, it festered like some kind of gross infection.
Ridiculous. Takato inwardly shook himself as if that would dispel the sensation, this awful anxiety that left him itchy and uncomfortable. This was different from the nervousness from a few days ago—where the thrill of a new experience awaited him, something fresh and exciting in a way he hadn't expected at all.
This… this hurt.
He'd allowed Azumaya to see him at his most vulnerable. He'd never been that exposed before. How could he let Azumaya in like that, if this was the end result? Stupid. He felt incredibly foolish and embarrassed and stupid, both for allowing Azumaya to see past his protective walls and for enjoying their time together. For believing him when he said he loved him.
He slept with me and left. He got what he was after, and now he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore.
How could he let himself be so naive? How could fall for such honey-sweet words? He should've known it was a ploy. Was… was this a way to get back at him, somehow? For bad-mouthing him while intoxicated?
He fought the urge to physically claw the anxiety out with his own fingernails. To carve an exit so wide that it had no choice but to leave. And alongside that impulse came a few more possibilities:
Maybe… maybe Azumaya did mean what he said back in the moment, but now regretted them? Or perhaps Azumaya hadn't enjoyed it as much as Takato had, and that left things incredibly awkward? Shame caused his skin to burn anew, humiliated at the idea that Takato had been blown away while Azumaya had a different experience entirely.
This is my fault for getting so attached. Takato worked his jaw as the thought flitted through his mind. What the hell is wrong with me? How could I do something like that with him, so easily? Now he has something else over me. Something that could ruin my career.
Takato drew in a silent breath through his nose. Let it out. He did this once more for good measure and lifted his chin subtly, determined.
Last time, Takato had been at Azumaya's mercy—had left his body hot and bothered, muscles pulled taut, controlling the entire experience from start to finish.
Now it was Takato's turn to take control and give Azumaya an experience he didn't—and wouldn't want to—regret.
Things were already not going as planned.
It was achingly obvious that Azumaya didn't want to be around him, but he drove Takato home anyway. The entire ride to his place, Azumaya refused to meet his eyes. Takato was an actor with twenty years of experience and used that experience to appear as unbothered as possible.
On the inside, however, his anxiety continued to fester.
What was he supposed to do once they actually reached Takato's place? How was he supposed to give Azumaya an unforgettable time when he had no idea what he was doing? The only experience he had in this department was with the man in the driver's seat.
His first idea was to think back to that night so he could spend the silence at least taking some mental notes, but it had only been about five seconds before his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
He ended up inviting him in for tea. Still, Azumaya lingered awkwardly by the door, and that only hurt even worse. He steeled his expression before turning to face him again. "You've… grown tired of me, haven't you?"
"Eh? What?"
"All that nonsense about…"
He rushed to lessen the distance between them, taking quick, long strides. His hands carded through Azumaya's hair, pulling him down with the intention of pressing their lips together, but stopped when Azumaya still tried to pull away, and it felt like the last straw.
Azumaya really didn't want him anymore. All that they had done that night, and… and Azuyama was already, truly over him.
Takato released him and rapidly spun around to hide his face as the cold, painful realisation left his eyes burning. Damn it… I'm crying over this. What is wrong with me?
"Takato-san…" Azumaya hedged. "I'm not sure if we should—"
"That's rich," Takato said dryly, laughing without humor. The stinging in his eyes refused to leave. "You had me…"
You had me at your mercy.
"...you were so…"
You were so adamant that you were in love with me.
"...and I…"
And I believed you.
"...you…"
You slept with me and then wouldn't talk to me anymore.
"Takato-san," Azumaya repeated, soft. His hands rested on Takato's shoulders, warm and heavy but in a way that was traitorously comforting. He squeezed like he was torn between pulling him closer and nudging him away. "...what's going on?"
"I'm… I'm not easy, okay?" Takato wouldn't turn around, wouldn't look up because then Azumaya would see the tears, and he couldn't give that to him. He couldn't give him the satisfaction. "And… and I can do it, too. You shouldn't just—"
He broke off when Azumaya's body suddenly crumpled, folding in on itself as he began coughing. Takato turned finally, startled enough by Azumaya's actions that he fell back to the floor as well, and when Azumaya's fit didn't subside within a few seconds, his eyes blew wide.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked. "Why are you coughing?"
"I…" Azumaya finally sucked in a rattling breath, voice now hoarse. "I'm sorry… I'm recovering from a cold. I've been trying to avoid giving it to you…"
The words floated between them, with Takato taking several moments longer than he should've to register them. He studied Azumaya's face, noting—for the first time—how pale he looked, even in the dimness of the apartment.
"A… a cold," he echoed slowly, finally sponging them. "So… so you… you're sick?"
"I'm not sure if I'm contagious anymore," Azumaya rushed to assure. "I've been on antibiotics for a few days. But just to be safe, I was keeping my distance…"
"...oh."
Oh. So… so Azumaya wasn't avoiding him. He was only taking safety precautions so Takato didn't catch the same Azumaya had.
Shame crept up to his skin, hot and unwanted. He'd… he'd completely misunderstood the situation. And in his desperation, he'd…
Takato drew himself to his full height, already working on the solution. In less than a minute, he had the overhead light on, with Azumaya resting on the sofa as he'd started tea—that was the guise he'd used earlier, after all, inviting him in for tea—and had a jar of honey in his hands, stirring it slowly.
They sat in a strange silence as the tea kettle warmed, and it wasn't until he served the tea to Azumaya that he actually spoke, giving him instructions for the honey and how it was meant to soothe his throat. And then, finally: "...I'm sorry."
Perhaps that should've been the first thing out of his mouth. His cheeks burned the more he thought about it—at least Azumaya had asked, repeatedly, for his consent. But Takato had been too hasty, too pushy. Desperate. Angry.
He truly owed Azumaya an apology—regardless of how he felt, he needed to give him that.
"Huh?" Azumaya looked up at him, brows drawn together in confusion. "For what?"
"I… I thought…" Obstinately, Takato averted his gaze. A nervous hand worked its way into his hair. "I thought you'd… already grown tired of me. After you got… what you wanted."
"Huh?" Azumaya repeated, sounding dumber the second time. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you didn't tell me you were sick, you idiot angel!"
Azumaya just blinked, slower and slower, like the pieces wouldn't connect. Was he really this dense? Takato huffed, keeping his eyes away.
"You went from confessing your love to me and hanging on me every second you got, to avoiding the hell out of me all week," he went on with brittle patience. "I figured… you'd gotten what you wanted, so maybe… maybe you'd gotten your fill or something. What was I supposed to think? I'm not that easy, Azumaya-kun."
Gradually, Azumaya seemed to understand. And then, just as gradually, he began to smile. "Junta."
This time, it was Takato who blinked. "What?"
Azumaya set his mug down on the coffee table, his grin widening into something brighter, more joyful. He reached for an unprepared Takato's wrist and tugged him down into his lap. "Call me Junta, Takato-san. Or... would you like one-thousand yen?"
"Are you mocking m—"
Takato squeaked as he collided with the wall of Azumaya's chest, fingers digging into his shirt in an attempt to stabilise himself. His given name. Saying his given name, after they'd already…
Damn it. Takato swallowed, heat rising in his cheeks and up his neck. "...Ch…unta…"
An awkward pause. Damn it all. I fumbled it.
"Eh?" Azumaya—Junta, he had insisted—gave him a weird look that only made him blush more. "It's… It's Junta, Takato-san—"
"It was on purpose," Takato snapped, perhaps a bit too quickly. "It—it's a nickname! Just. Just be satisfied with the nickname!"
His perplexed expression melted into something softer, mellower. Radiant. "Okay."
Takato nodded mutely, unsure if he'd been successful in covering his mistake, but too embarrassed to say much more. He shifted awkwardly, still not used to being this close to someone if it wasn't for acting. But this was completely offset. No script. No lines to memorise beforehand. This… this was so intimate. They were so close.
Close, like… like that night…
How did he ever think that he could initiate something like this? He swallowed again, nervous, and when he shifted his weight again, something poked at the back of his thigh and he froze.
His eyes snapped up to meet Azu—Junta's—gaze and, okay, he had the decency to at least look sheepish.
"I'm sorry, Takato-san."
(He sounded more giddy than apologetic.)
"You… you insatiable angel," Takato hissed, rushing to stand. "You… you said you were sick."
"I…I am. Was. Maybe," Junta said slowly. "But… I'm not contagious anymore, I don't think, and… and you seemed eager, and I couldn't help it."
Takato's face was so hot with embarrassment that it rivaled the boiling heat of the tea kettle across the apartment. At this point, he didn't even care if he caught whatever Junta had, but… "I… I was not eager…"
His voice came out muffled and uncertain, but it was true. He hadn't really… he hadn't given any of this much thought—it was a stupid, impulsive decision birthed from the hurt and anger he felt over something that was only a misunderstanding.
"You should've told me you were sick," he said against Junta's chest. "I…"
You're so confusing. I gave you my body and my trust. I thought you rejected it.
"I'm sorry, Takato-san," Junta said, and this time, he sounded completely genuine. "It wasn't that I didn't want to do anything with you—I was actually so happy when you asked for a ride home. But you're busier than I am, and I didn't want to pass my cold onto you… I didn't mean to cause you any pain."
Takato's fingers curled deeper into Junta's shirt and he nodded once, silent. Curt. It was a relief to know that he hadn't disrespected Junta's boundaries. "O…okay."
"Really," Junta went on. "I… I thought that if both of us were sick, then how were we supposed to continue production? So I wanted to stay as far away from you as possible. So you stayed healthy. If I got close to you, I knew I'd lose self-control."
Takato nodded again. Didn't trust himself to speak.
Slowly, Junta's arms threaded around Takato's shoulders, tucking him in closer so he could whisper into his ear: "I would never grow tired of you, Takato-san. Even if you wanted me to, I couldn't grow tired of you."
He shouldn't have felt as comforted by those words as he did. Relief flooded through him uninvited, soothing the week-long, itchy, uncomfortable anxiety. So… so it wasn't terrible, then. Junta didn't regret it. Which meant… which meant that Takato didn't have to regret it, either.
Takato frowned to himself. Why did Junta's approval matter so much to him? Professionally, Takato had way more experience. He… he didn't need to prove anything to Junta. Yes, Junta had shown him things he'd never done before—never felt or wanted to feel before.
But even if he had used Takato for his body, he couldn't destroy Takato's acting career without harming his own, if the word were to spread about their relationship.
Takato's cheeks burned again. Was it even a relationship? For the first time, it dawned on him: he had slept with Azumaya Junta, and they weren't even together. They'd… they'd…
"I could make you so happy, Takato-san."
"Are you alright, Takato-san?" Junta asked suddenly, but when he tried to meet Takato's gaze, Takato stubbornly looked away. "I'm so in love with you, Takato-san. But I have so much respect for you, and I won't push if you say no."
The words went right over him. The only thing he could focus on, right at this moment, was the pulsing hardness beneath him, warm even though the fabric of his jeans, which were still disheveled. Somehow, that made it even worse—he had done everything wrong, and Junta was still hot and bothered.
Hot and bothered because of him.
Warmth spread in his abdomen. Why… why was that so… attractive? It… it made him feel hot, but not with embarrassment. Not with shame or humiliation. But with yearning.
Slowly, hesitantly, Takato shifted again, hyper-aware of the bulge in Junta's pants. He didn't look at Junta's face—couldn't look at it, not yet—as one of his hands released Junta's shirt to travel southbound, closer and closer to the very obvious firmness between Junta's legs.
His hand ghosted over the tip, just barely brushing, but even through the fabric, Junta seemed to have felt something because he stiffened a little at the contact.
"You…" Takato's ears burned as he struggled to put his suddenly very stuffy thoughts into words. "...you want this?"
"Please," Junta breathed, head falling against his chest. "I'll always want you, Takato-san. Only you."
Takato was not prepared for that. Not at all. The words, husky and low and pleading, just from one touch? The warmth in his abdomen abruptly turned into something achy, something searing, and damn it, this wasn't at all how this was supposed to go.
Experimentally, Takato brushed his thumb over Junta. When his palm curled around Junta, slow but curious, Junta's hand came to rest over his own, guiding.
"Takato-san," Junta whispered, achy and full. "...do you want to?"
It was too embarrassing to admit it out loud—he couldn't even bring himself to nod, even though Junta was awaiting his permission. Why was it so hard to say those three words? He swallowed, cheeks burning. Murmured instead, "I'll do it."
It was then that Takato became aware of how loud his heart pounded in his ears, blood roaring. Okay. So here they were again, all flushed with want and the aching need to touch.
Except… Takato could control it this time. Junta panted beneath him—beneath him—on the sofa, and he could be at Takato's mercy this time.
It was such an exciting thought and Takato didn't even know why. Suddenly he needed to see Junta come undone. Needed to have him flustered and shaking. The thought fueled his actions even before his brain could fully process what he was doing.
His fingers toyed with the zipper, snaking inside. Even through his underwear, Junta was hot and stiff with arousal. Takato stroked slowly, investigative, stopping when Junta twitched underneath his fingers.
"Takato-san," Junta repeated, the name escaping his lips in a soft breath, fanning Takato's shirt. "I…"
His arms slid from Takato's shoulders to his waist, and then his hips. Takato stilled under his electric touch, toes curling as those long fingers reached his pubic bone. Takato bit the inside of his lip as he noticed the obvious tent in his own jeans.
"I have an idea, Takato-san," Junta murmured with an impish sort of smile that went straight into Takato's arousal.
"...what?"
His voice came out breathless, croaky. He saw that smile and his brain immediately thought of many days prior, when Junta had him trembling with ecstasy, more than once. Suddenly his clothes felt too tight, too suffocating, and—and how was he supposed to communicate that to Junta?
Takato wanted to be in control. Some instinctive, competitive part of him wanted to show that he could do this, too, but embarrassment had him hesitating.
Junta went to move, to lift them both with admirable ease, and that snapped him out of it. Takato stopped him by squeezing the girth of his erection. Junta hissed, wandering hands freezing in place. "Wh—"
"I'll do it," Takato repeated, the words firm despite the embarrassment flooding through him.
And he could. Junta had done it to him last time, right? All… all he had to do was stroke him, right? His mind's eye immediately conjured a picture of Takato leaning with his back to Junta's chest, trying to remember all the things those hands had done.
The weight between his legs twitched and pulsed, aching for attention. He tried to ignore it in favor of satisfying the man beneath him, but as Takato's fingers moved along Junta's erection and Junta's hips stuttered up to meet his hand, the yearning became so painful.
He wanted to be in control. Yet his body craved to submit.
Idiot, insatiable angel, he thought with a mental scowl. My body's never acted like this before. You're taking control so easily. I can do it, too.
"Takato-san…"
"I'll do it," Takato persisted tightly. "I'll—"
"But Takato-san… you're crying."
Takato froze. His hand on Junta loosened, shocked by the words but even more shocked when he realised that Junta was right.
"Are you scared?" Junta asked quietly. "We can stop if—"
"No! I'm not—I can do it. It's fine."
"But…"
"Why is it a problem?" Takato blurted out and shoved him back, standing awkwardly. It was incredibly painful, and his legs wouldn't work the way they usually did, but he didn't care. "I said I can do it, and I will. Why…" He sucked in a quick, shaky breath. "Why does it bother you? I told you I'm not easy—"
"Takato-san, wait."
Junta stood, fumbling, pants unzipped and face flushed. Still, underneath all the desire and heat was very real concern.
"I don't think you're easy at all," he said slowly. "Even if you were, I wouldn't care because it's you. Still, it… it took me a year to get your attention."
Takato froze again, cheeks suspiciously damp, his expression slackening. "Huh?"
"You're so hard to impress, Takato-san," he went on. "For the longest time, I couldn't even get you to look at me. What… what even makes you think that?" And then, hesitantly: "I'm asking you to stop because I didn't… didn't know if you really wanted to."
I want to, his mind screamed. The problem is I don't know how to say it.
It wouldn't come out. The words remained trapped in his mind—and maybe that was where they belonged. He wiped at his face in frustration, unsure of what to do with all these complicated feelings.
And that was another thing. Complicated feelings. Saijou Takato didn't have complicated feelings. There was no room for that in the entertainment industry. No room for anything less than perfection, anything less than professionalism. He gritted his teeth, shoving down the achiness in his chest and stubbornly ignoring the even more obvious ache between his legs.
"Takato-san," Junta whispered, and suddenly he stepped in close, extending a hand. "Please. What's going on?"
This. This was what was going on: all this vulnerability and lack of control and terrifying want. It was so different than anything Takato had ever experienced, and that fact alone left him drowning in anxiety.
Takato sucked in a deep, slow breath. He was a professional. He could… he needed to put a cap on this already. Shove it down. Down. Further and further where nobody would find it, where nobody would see. Saijou Takato didn't get anxious. Saijou Takato didn't get scared. And Saijou Takato didn't become attracted to people. Didn't get involved in situations like this.
And yet here he was. Takato closed his eyes and drew in another breath, quieter this time. "It's nothing. I'm sorry, Azumaya-kun. Please forget it."
"Chunta," Junta corrected, with a suspiciously pained undertone. "You told me… to be satisfied with Chunta."
"...Chunta," Takato echoed, but somehow that felt more vulnerable, outside the safety of professionalism to which Takato clung so hard. Still, he ignored the hammer of his heartbeat and the racing anxiety and repeated, "I'm sorry, Chunta."
"Takato-san, please." Junta's hand finally rose to Takato's face, moving to cup his cheek. Hovering. "Let's talk about this."
Takato hesitated, regardless. Took a step back. Then, finally, in a low voice: "You… you did everything last time…"
Junta looked so hopelessly confused and lost. "What are you talking about?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Takato snapped. "This—this is still new to me! I haven't…"
He swallowed past the knot building in his throat, swallowed down this stupid, ridiculous fear and somehow his pride went down too. How could he explain it to someone else if he didn't get it himself?
"This hasn't… it doesn't happen to me," he admitted eventually, softly. A whisper of shame laced his words. "But now it is, and I don't know if it made me look like I would just sleep with anyone because I…" He gestured vaguely at his body and then hid behind one of his hands, mortified at what he'd just implied. "Because I wouldn't. I won't."
Junta stared at him for several, dreadfully long moments. He blinked once, twice, like he was absorbing the info. "You… you only feel this way, with me?"
"I… huh?"
"I'm… the only one who sees Takato-san like this," Junta said, looking a little dazed. Like the very concept was surreal to him. Then came a radiant smile, and there was angel-Junta, finally making an appearance. "I'm the only one who gets to see this side of Takato-san."
"Shut up," Takato hissed, and when the embarrassment became too much, he faced away from him stubbornly. "Don't get carried away."
It's your stupid charm, he didn't say aloud. You pull everyone toward you. Even me.
"I'm so happy, Takato-san," Junta rambled on, like he hadn't heard him. "You're the only one I want to do this with. You're the only one who can make me feel this way, too. Seeing you…" His expression shifted into something more seductive. Sinful. "I can't describe how it makes me feel. I'm satisfied knowing you're experiencing pleasure—knowing you're satisfied."
Takato's brain took a moment to catch up. Two moments. Three. "...eh?"
"Hearing all your sounds, seeing all those faces," Junta murmured, stepping toward him. "You make amazing sex faces, Takato-san. So gorgeous. It's… it's like being in another world, knowing everyone else doesn't know those faces exist."
Short-circuiting. Takato's brain felt like it had rebooted without his permission and now he was waiting for the slower-than-usual start-up. As the words finally—finally—registered, heat ascended into his face, boiling under his skin.
"Don't say things like that," he hissed, and his legs felt like they wouldn't keep him upright anymore. He sank down to the coffee table, right next to Junta's mug of tea that had long since grown cool. "...it's embarrassing…"
"But it's true!"
"Shut up."
They descended into silence after that, and it lasted too long to be considered comfortable. Then, quietly: "I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Takato-san. If you… if you want to stop, I will."
Takato shifted awkwardly. The worst part, right now, was that his aching arousal had yet to fade, instead growing stiffer and more painful despite all these frustrating emotions coursing through him. Because his mind kept wandering to memories of that first time, and his body wanted it again.
Arousal felt like some kind of drug. His sense of control dwindled underneath the haze of desire, teetering over something dangerous. Inescapable. And it left him to the mercy of Azumaya Junta, who seemed to know more about this subject than Takato even thought possible.
This feeling of being so exposed, of being so vulnerable, like all of his secrets had been laid out—secrets Takato didn't know he had—it was the most terrifying thing of all.
Because he could take all of what he'd learned about Saijou Takato—what Takato had learned about himself—and use it to destroy him. Yes, Junta was involved in this, too, but he could always lie. As dramatic as it felt, Junta held the entirety of Takato's career in his hands, and he could very well crush it.
"I like taking care of you," Junta said suddenly. Sincerely. "It's… you're so beautiful. Nothing excites me more than seeing you turned on because of me, Takato-san."
Takato's eyes blew wide, mind catapulting back to ten minutes earlier, when Takato had the same thoughts about him. It'd been… so exciting, so satisfying, the idea of seeing Junta unravel before him, because of him. Knowing this was supposed to be his biggest rival in the entertainment industry, and… and Takato could make him feel good the same way Junta made Takato feel good.
"I have an idea," Junta announced abruptly, and it wasn't the first time he had said it, but it startled Takato nonetheless. "...is that okay, Takato-san?"
"An… idea?"
"To… help with…"
He glanced down at the arousal evident between Takato's legs, and the embarrassment felt eternal at this point, burning his entire body. He stilled, knees moving to cover it up, but there was no point. Junta already knew. He'd already seen.
"You can say no," Junta said when Takato was quiet. "It's… it's really fine. I don't want to push."
"What…" Takato looked resolutely at the floor, too flustered to meet Junta's gaze. "...is your idea?"
"We could…" Junta took another step forward, kneeling in front of him. Took Takato's hands in his own, eyes soft and sincere, just like that first night. His fingers were warm against Takato's, tightening around them as if in protection. "I want you to feel good, Takato-san."
Takato scowled. "You insatiable angel. In what way is that fair?"
Junta looked surprised to hear the words, at first, before his expression turned sheepish. "Is it selfish of me, isn't it? To be this greedy with you. I'm sorry."
"That's—" Takato stopped, fumbling for words. "You're… you're obviously turned on."
"So are you," Junta pointed out. Echoed, "I'm sorry for being greedy. You're so beautiful, and… and seeing you feel good… seeing you react… it's the best. I love seeing it so much. It's the greatest thing I could ever ask for. So… so if you want… I can make you feel good, Takato-san."
Takato opened his mouth again to speak. A refusal sat on his tongue, fueled by shame, but it wouldn't go any further. Once again Takato realised that he couldn't refuse—he couldn't ignore Junta's mesmerising, magnetic pull.
"...fine," he murmured, quiet. Flustered. His fingers curled under Junta's palms, knuckles turning white. "Just. Just… give me some charge, damn it."
"Eh?" Junta tilted his head, oddly reminiscent of a confused puppy. "Charge?"
"It's my body," Takato said, voice even despite the heat in his cheeks. "I… I want control."
It only took a second for the shift. Junta might as well have had wings sprouting behind him, face lighting up with joy. "Okay!"
Takato inhaled slowly and expelled the breath, nodding. "O…okay."
"This feels stupid," Takato grumbled under his breath, now without clothes and very flustered about it. "You're just making a mess. This isn't why I gave you the honey."
Junta grinned, the picture of angelic innocence. His fingers danced along Takato's sticky navel, pausing over his pubic bone. "I'll still eat it, Takato-san."
Takato's entire body burned with embarrassment, head to toe, as Junta licked his way down to meet where his hand rested, and Takato's breath hitched when Junta's tongue did something blissful, sweeping over his tip and sweeping down to the hilt. "Ch…Chun…"
"If you sit like this," Junta murmured against his skin, slowly guiding his legs apart, "you choose if it's too much. If you don't like it, you can get up. How does that sound?"
Takato sat on the coffee table with Junta kneeling in front of him. It… it did ease the anxiety, but his heart continued to thrum in his chest with anticipation. He nodded, slowly, hesitantly. "...okay."
Junta smiled up at him, sweet and kind, which only made his heart stumble even more, falling out of rhythm. Takato lowered his gaze, swallowing nervously.
"Ready?" Junta whispered.
Another nod. Sheepish. Mute. He bit his lip as Junta took him into his mouth, a little at a time, and his hips jerked at the sensation, unable to stop the breathy moan that escaped his lips. A hand automatically rose to his mouth, but his body had been pleading for this, aching for this. And Junta knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what Takato needed.
Maybe that was why he didn't last very long. He whimpered as he reached his limit humiliatingly too soon—had he even made it to thirty seconds?—body quaking and twitching, an apology on his tongue.
"Why are you sorry?" Junta asked him, after swallowing in a way that made him so much more embarrassed. "I'm so happy."
Takato didn't quite understand why but was too breathless and dizzy to ask. Junta reached for his hips again, and Takato shook his head, crossing his legs. He would've stood if he had the energy. "W…wait…"
Junta did. He didn't touch him again for another few minutes, when the shakes were gone and he was less sensitive. He drizzled more honey onto Takato's chest, meeting his gaze when Takato winced—it was colder than he'd expected. Junta asked, "Is… is this okay?"
Takato looked away. "Why do you want to do this?"
"Because," Junta said, voice dropping low and husky, "you look so amazing. I could eat you up."
"That's…!" Did this man have any sort of filter? "That's—don't say that! It's… it's…"
"True?" Junta murmured against his chest.
His tongue darted out to swirl around one of his nipples, and Takato tensed, back arching before he could stop it. He panted as Junta licked his way to his other nipple, slurping up the honey. The sound felt so… filthy, but no one else was around to hear it, so Takato tried to relax.
"You…" Takato paused to whimper, shuddering under the ticklish, slippery warmth of Junta's mouth. "...you said…"
"Hmm?"
"...I could…"—pant—"...have some control…"
Junta looked up at him then, eyes hazy with desire, cheeks pink. After a moment, he seemed to realise their position—he'd pushed Takato back a little, pinning him on the table—and scooted back with a sheepish smile.
"I'm sorry, Takato-san," he said, scratching his cheek with a single finger. "Forgive me, I got… ahead of myself."
Slowly, Takato sat back up, crossing his legs again in an instinctive attempt to hide the uncomfortable stiffness between them. Sheesh, all Junta had done was lick his chest. His toes curled, humiliation flooding through him in waves.
Before he could say anything, Junta sat down on the couch, extending a hand for Takato to take. Confusion rippled through him, but Junta's eyes were filled with such warmth that he couldn't help but accept.
Junta tugged, and Takato fell toward him with a shameful squeak of surprise. Junta asked, "Is this better?"
Something poked the inside of Takato's thigh, and Takato was pretty sure he knew exactly what that something was. He shifted a little—one leg dangled off the side of the sofa, while he struggled to figure out what to do with the other—and his eyes widened a hair when he saw the subtle way the flush on Junta's cheeks darkened. The stiffness beneath him twitched.
"Does…" Takato swallowed and looked anywhere but Junta's eyes, embarrassed to ask. "...does it feel good?"
"Hmm?"
Was he really going to make Takato repeat it? Stupid, insatiable angel. Takato frowned, fingers curling into fists. "...me… like this?"
Junta leaned forward, hands moving along Takato's hips, and his breath ghosted against Takato's ear when he whispered, "It's lovely."
He hadn't expected that husky, low tone. It sent a shiver up his spine, covering his skin with goosebumps, and when Takato's body shuddered, one of Junta's hands found his neck and guided him down until their lips touched.
Junta's lips tasted like honey and something else—something strangely salty—and it took several moments to realise that it must've been what lingered from when Junta's mouth had been on him. It should've been gross—humiliating, even—but all Takato could think about, at that moment, was Junta's warm hand on the back of his neck, and the way Junta's tongue slid along the crease of his lips, asking for permission.
Takato let him in, his heart thumping in his chest as he remembered the last time they had kissed like this. Heat swooped from his chest down into his abdomen and then it spread like flames: searing-hot but in the best way, consuming him one vein, one artery, one capillary at a time until he was a raging inferno of yearning.
He lifted his hips instinctively, and he wasn't even aware that he'd done it until his body came back down. Their arousals brushed together and Junta let out a hissing moan—a sound that went straight to his abdomen, into the throbbing firmness between his thighs.
The idea of being on top was both exhilarating and intimidating. He lacked knowledge and experience, and it definitely showed, but even if he didn't admit it out loud, Junta was gorgeous like this. Making sounds he hadn't heard during their last encounter. This time, the light was on—he saw more than he did before, and somehow that made the experience feel even better.
"T…Takato-san…" Junta panted against his lips. "Can… can we… I want t-to…"
Takato gazed deep into his eyes, and it was so hard not to get lost in them. Then Junta's words registered in his mind, and he wanted to give him some kind of approval, except…
"I… I don't have any…" His ears burned. Somehow saying the words out loud was more embarrassing than what they currently were doing. "...you had… things to prepare, last time… and I…"
"Oh," Junta murmured. "That's alright."
Takato shook his head. "It… it..."
"I can make sure it won't hurt," Junta said, "if that's what worries you? I don't want you limping tomorrow."
Takato didn't think it was possible to feel any more embarrassed. And part of him was relieved—he liked this position, liked the sense of control, but he didn't know if he could satisfy Junta that way, not yet. And… and if he were to put…
Takato swallowed. He wasn't ready for that kind of stimulation. And he couldn't bring himself to ask if he was going to be the one receiving or giving.
Or maybe it didn't matter. They were two males after all: it didn't always have to be about putting one thing into another, right? Junta had shown him last time that there were so many ways he could feel pleasure without… without…
"Is that okay?" Junta asked when he stayed quiet.
He nodded slowly. Timidly. Junta pushed himself up a little, and Takato's knee knocked against the couch, his other foot dusting against the floor. He shifted his weight, his leg finally finding a nice position around Junta's hip.
Junta's fingers moved along his chest, pinching and teasing, until he reached Takato's arousal—and his own. His hand was big enough to wrap around both of them, and Takato's hips jerked in response, a breathy whisper of a sigh leaving his mouth at the pleasure.
A filthy, squelchy sound made Takato freeze, and he looked down to see that they were both considerably wet.
"We have our own r—"
"I… I can see that…" Takato interrupted and averted his eyes. "You… you don't have to say it…"
"Are you ready, Takato-san?"
Hesitantly, Takato's hands found Junta's shoulders, leaning forward to hide his face there, and nodded again.
Junta had meant it, last time, when he said he'd memorise that spot. Takato realised this when electricity sparked through him, lightning-fast, and he whimpered against Junta's shoulder, already shivering. He took his time with the stretching, one finger at a time, one minute at a time. Takato focused on getting used to the fullness, fingernails scraping against Junta's shoulders, and when Junta brushed against that spot again, his body moved on its own, hips rising up and falling down.
"Ch…Chunta…"
"Yes?"
I'm not going to ask for it, he thought stubbornly. Or more like: I… I couldn't even if I wanted to…
The shuddering, small gasp that escaped him when Junta hit that spot again seemed to tell Junta exactly what he wanted to know, though, and Takato bit his lip, trying to ignore the embarrassment coursing through him. How could he feel such shame when Junta had been the one to ask for this, to begin with?
Junta still took it slow as he lined up against him—an inch at a time until it was finally all the way in—and it wasn't until Takato loosened his grip on him that he began moving.
They both moaned at the same time, and it felt unfair, how good Junta was at this. How he made Takato's body move on its own accord. How he was able to pull sounds and expressions from him that Takato didn't know he could make.
Takato's hands slid from Junta's shoulders down his hips, body rising and falling, rising and falling. His legs and hips ached from the strain, and he struggled to find enough air to fill his lungs. He winced as he came down rougher than expected, gasping sharply.
That hurt. It hurt a lot more than he thought it would.
"T…Takato-san?" Junta breathed out in concern.
"It's—fine," he hissed. "I'm—I'm not… fragile, just…"
And he wasn't. He could… he could handle this. He just… needed a minute, maybe.
While he sat, flushed and breathing hard, Junta asked, "Can I try something else?"
Takato's first instinct was to shake his head—he wanted to figure it out himself, after all, and he wasn't one who took failure well—but realised, belatedly, that he didn't have the confidence to actually ask about how to fix it, nor could he even attempt to look something like this up. Where would he even start?
Takato had no idea and despite his fierce competitiveness, maybe… maybe the best choice here was to trust Junta. Not that he could say that out loud, but still.
He breathed out slowly and nodded.
Slowly, gradually, they separated. Junta pressed their lips together as he shifted them both, reclining his spine against the back of the sofa, with Takato still over him, legs crossing over either side of him.
They didn't join again after that but continued moving together for several minutes, hips rocking against each other. The friction had Takato whimpering Junta's name into his collarbone, an arm sliding over his shoulder to pull them closer, closer, closer.
Junta made a hissing moan of a sound, hands cupping the back of Takato's thighs, moving them faster, faster, faster, chasing his own aftershocks, and oh, Takato was gone after that.
Takato's head lolled forward as he twitched and shuddered. Sticky, sweat-soaked skin leaning against sticky, sweat-soaked skin, feeling Junta spasm beneath him, too. "...sorry."
"Mm?" Junta shifted under him, equally breathless. "...what for?"
"I…" He swallowed, toes curling. "We… didn't, um…"
"It's alright if that happens," Junta said. "It still felt good, didn't it?"
Takato went bright red at the question and kept his face hidden in Junta's shoulder. He nodded briefly into his skin. It felt so… different, experiencing it first-hand versus the way the camera portrayed scenes like this. He typically avoided that sort of thing, but he was an actor, after all. He knew intimacy was dramatised in films for the sake of viewers.
This, however… this was messy. Confusing. They were ready for one thing and did another. Something about it felt achingly human, and… and that made it much more special.
It reminded Takato—Saijou Takato, who was always prepared, always perfect for the camera—that he was human. And he wasn't sure if that scared him or pleased him. Maybe both.
He said none of this out loud. Instead, he continued to lean against Junta's chest.
Junta asked, "Does it… bother you?"
"What?"
"That we didn't finish the way we planned."
Takato swallowed again anxiously. "I thought… that you would want… you said that…"
Junta waited, but the rest of the sentence wouldn't form. After a few more moments of silence, he said gently, "Sex doesn't always mean penetration, Takato-san."
It wasn't a vulgar term by any means, but somehow it felt like one, especially in this context. Takato's fingers dug into Junta's skin. "...oh."
"It does feel good," he went on unabashedly. "But it isn't all there is. I'm… I'm sorry if you felt pressured because of me."
"It's…" Takato cleared his throat. Part of it had been Takato's own confusion, his own ignorance on the subject. He'd put the pressure on himself. "It's fine."
"I mean it, Takato-san. We can do many things. Many, many other things…" His breath ghosted along the outer shell of Takato's ear as he added, "That's why we started with the honey."
A shiver crept down Takato's spine at the reminder. Right. The honey. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at it the same, after this.
"Takato-san?"
"Mm."
"Did you mean it?"
"Mean… what?"
"Earlier, you said you were worried I'd grown tired of you…" Junta's arms suddenly tightened around him, warm but strangely… vulnerable. Like he was afraid to let him go. "...does that mean you missed having me around?"
Takato stiffened all of a sudden, expelling a pathetically indignant noise. "Eh?!"
"That means you like me, right? Because… that makes me so happy."
"I… I told you not to get carried away," Takato rushed to say.
"How could I not?" Ah. Angel-Junta, making another appearance. "After all… this means you trust me…"
Takato's heart thrummed in his chest, and they were so close he wondered if Junta felt it, too. He… he did trust Junta—trusted him in a way that he couldn't trust anyone else. And after all of this painful anxiety and confusion, after all of these misunderstandings, Junta deserved the truth, didn't he?
But how could he say it? Half of this had been Takato's fault. Being open about vulnerable topics for scenes, for the camera, and for the press wasn't the same as being vulnerable. He didn't know how to express his feelings—let alone feelings like this. Didn't know how to translate them into words.
Gradually, Takato relaxed against him again, arms threading around Junta's shoulders. And he squeezed. Junta squeezed him back after only a breath's pause, seeming to understand, and… and it felt like he didn't have to put his feelings into words.
At least for now, this was enough.