The safe house was a total dump. It was a tiny, cramped room Tenshin had provided in a part of the city where the police didn't like to go. It smelled like old dust and damp concrete, but after the Superintendent's executioner turned Mayonaka's Sweets into a blackened shell of ash, this room felt like a palace. Outside the cracked window, the city was waking up to a nightmare. The news was everywhere. The facade of the strict, nonchalant teacher was dead. Now, the front page of every paper showed a grainy photo of the "Iron-Fist," calling Daisetsu a violent fugitive and a gang leader.
Inside the room, the air was heavy with the scent of smoke and a highkey intense physical touch. Yasuo stood by the wall, his hands shaking so hard he had to grip his own elbows to stay still. He was the shy, the quiet baker who usually avoided conflict at all costs, but seeing the way the world was hunting Daisetsu made his blood boil with a protective anger he didn't know he had. He looked at Daisetsu, who was sitting on the edge of the narrow, creaky bed.
The teacher had stripped off his charred, ruined shirt. His hard, muscular body was covered in soot and sweat, and the old, deep, complex scars on his chest and shoulders looked like a jagged map of a life full of violence. He looked like a wounded soul, a fallen king who had lost everything but the boy standing in front of him.
"Come here, Yasuo," Daisetsu rumbled. His voice was a gravelly rasp, thick with the smoke he'd inhaled while saving the bakery's ledger and Yasuo's favorite mixing bowl.
Yasuo didn't hesitate. He crossed the small room and sank to his knees between the teacher's heavy, spread thighs. The casual bromance vibes were gone, replaced by a savage heat that made everything else disappear. There were no school rules here. No Superintendent. No malicious Kaede watching from the shadows. There was only the heavy heat between a man who had nothing left and the boy who was his entire world.
Daisetsu's large, scarred hands cupped Yasuo's face, forcing him to look up. The teacher's eyes were metallic and sharp, glowing with a possessive fire. He told Yasuo that no one touches what belongs to him, and he meant it. The realization hit Yasuo like a truck—this stoic protector wasn't just a teacher anymore; he was a man who would burn the world down to keep his partner safe.
The physical payoff for weeks of slow-burn tension finally exploded. Daisetsu hauled Yasuo up, pinning him to the mattress with a heavy, rhythmic force that made the headboard slam against the concrete wall. This wasn't the sweet, clumsy first kiss they shared at the bakery. This was extreme. This was a frantic, desperate need to feel alive after facing death in the fire.
Daisetsu's mouth crashed onto Yasuo's, tasting of grit and raw desire. His hands were everywhere, bruising Yasuo's hips as he mapped out the sweat-slicked skin of the baker's chest. He wanted to claim every inch, to leave a mark that shouted to the world that this boy was off-limits. He stripped Yasuo's clothes off with a rough, savage energy, his fingers trembling with a mix of rage and lust.
The teacher's muscular chest rippled in the dim light as he hovered over Yasuo. He didn't use any of the usual care; he used a frantic, wounded soul desperation. He entered Yasuo with a heavy, rhythmic force that made the baker's eyes roll back and his toes curl into the scratchy sheets.
Yasuo's legs were hiked up over Daisetsu's broad, powerful shoulders, his heels digging into the stoic protector's back, feeling the scars and the heat of the man's skin. He was blushing fiercely, his face a mess of tears and pure, unadulterated passion. Every thrust from Daisetsu felt like a promise—a promise that they were in this war together until the very end. The sound of their bodies hitting, the wet slaps, and the loud, hungry moans filled the tiny room, drowning out the distant sirens.
Daisetsu leaned down and bit Yasuo's neck, right over the pulse point. He didn't just nip; he bit down hard, leaving a dark, purple mark, a territorial claim that would stay there for days. He wanted everyone to see it. He wanted the Superintendent and Kaede to know that even if they burned the bakery, they couldn't touch the heart of the Iron-Fist.
"Say it," Daisetsu panted, his savage movements becoming faster and more intense as he drove himself into Yasuo. "Say you're mine and no one can have us."
"I'm yours! Only yours!" Yasuo cried out, his voice raw and shaking. "He can't... have us!"
As the climax hit them like a lightning strike, Yasuo's body arched off the bed, his fingers clawing at Daisetsu's back, leaving fresh red marks next to the old scars. The teacher followed a second later, his entire body shuddering as he poured all his anger, his fear, and his deep, hidden love into the boy beneath him. They lay there for a long time, tangled together, their breathing perfectly synchronized while the sirens of the city wailed in the distance.
The bromance had been forged in the fire of the night, and now it was a bond of iron. They weren't just a teacher and a baker anymore; they were two fugitives who had found their home in each other.