The safe house was a tiny, cramped apartment Tenshin had provided, and it smelled like old dust and damp concrete. But after the fire in the night that turned Mayonaka's Sweets into a blackened shell, it felt like a palace. Outside, the world was ending for Daisetsu Nakamura. The Iron-Fist was on the front page of every paper , his "Stoic Protector" mask ripped off to reveal the Violent Fugitive underneath.
But inside? Inside, the air was thick with something way hotter than the Superintendent's fire.
Yasuo stood by the small, cracked window, his hands trembling. He looked at the marks on his own skin—not from the fire, but from the desperate, possessive grip Daisetsu had used to pull him from the flames. He felt terrified but filled with protective anger.
"Daisetsu..." Yasuo whispered, turning around.
Daisetsu was sitting on the edge of the narrow bed. He had stripped off his charred shirt, leaving his hard, muscular body bare. His skin was stained with soot, and the old, deep, complex scar on his shoulder was visible in the dim light. He looked savage, like a wounded soul" that had finally reached its breaking point.
"Come here, Yasuo," Daisetsu rumbled, his voice a gravelly rasp that made Yasuo's knees turn to jelly.
Yasuo didn't hesitate. He crossed the room and sank to his knees between Daisetsu's thighs. The physical touch was a savage heat that made everything else—the big issue, the external threat" the malicious, Kaede—disappear.
"You're shaking," Daisetsu observed, his large, scarred hands cupping Yasuo's face. He forced Yasuo to look him in the eye, his gaze "metallic" and intense. "Look at me now. I told you, no one touches what's mine".
"I thought I lost you," Yasuo sobbed, his "passionate" nature finally overflowing.
Daisetsu didn't answer with words. He grabbed Yasuo by the waist and hauled him up, pinning him to the mattress with a "heavy, rhythmic force". This wasn't a "slow burn" anymore; this was an explosion. Daisetsu's mouth "crashed" onto Yasuo's, tasting of smoke and "desperation".
The physical payoff was extreme. Daisetsu was possessive, his hands bruising Yasuo's hips as he mapped out every inch of him. He wanted to "know he was alive". He entered Yasuo with a frantic energy, his muscular chest rippling with every move.
Yasuo's legs were hiked up over Daisetsu's broad shoulders, his heels digging into the protector's back. He was blushing fiercely, his face a mess of tears and "desire". He moaned loudly, the sound echoing in the safe house while the city searched for the fugitive teacher.
Daisetsu bit Yasuo's neck again, deeper this time, leaving a dark, purple mark. He wanted everyone to know who Yasuo belonged to. He wanted to shut down the fear with pure, unadulterated shared focus.
"Say it," Daisetsu panted, his savage thrusts making the bed frame groan against the wall. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours! Always yours!" Yasuo cried out, his body arching as he hit his climax like a lightning strike.
Daisetsu followed him into the white light, his whole body shuddering as he poured his anger, fear, and love into the boy who had saved him. They lay there, tangled together, their breathing perfectly synchronized.