Chapter title: Taste
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon.
Notes: Last one! I don't wanna stop writing this though, I enjoy it too much. Oh well, it had to finish sooner or later. Besides, I've run out of senses to use as chapter titles now. Enjoy the Daiken. And also, once again, I beg and plead for suggestions of unusual pairings I can use for other fics I have planned. Cheers.

Week 5

He's not on the train today.

He hasn't been on the train all week, and it's beginning to make me despair. I do hope he hasn't caught any horrible diseases, as that would definitely put a damper on my intentions. At the very least I would have to put everything off until a later date, when he has returned to full health and is once again a regular passenger on this train; our conversation last week ended far too abruptly for my liking, and I hadn't the time to get any details such as his address from him. I didn't even manage to get a number, so I have no way of knowing where he is or what he's doing.

A voice echoes through the carriage: 'Odaiba. This is Odaiba. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.' This is usually when I'd see him stand up, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder, and step off the train after edging carefully out of his seat. It's one of the highlights of the journey, as he doesn't walk so much as sway. And allow me to assure you, there is little which is more attractive than a swaying Daisuke.

Daisuke. I still can't quite get my head around how I hadn't known that was his name before. How did I manage to think about him so much and not once, even idly, consider the fact that I didn't know what he was called? It's absolutely insane.

For the whole journey I can't think of anything but him. I stare at the reflection of the empty seat he normally occupies from my spot a few seats back, at each stop hoping that no one else will sit in it, and wonder where he's been. I hope he hasn't moved house; it'd be a nightmare trying to find him again. But the more I think about it, the more likely that unpleasant possibility seems to become. The only other reason I can think of is illness, and he didn't seem the type to be prone to infectious diseases.

'Tamachi. This is Tamachi. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.' I step off the train and, as I make my way towards the station exit, try to come up with a solution. If he's moved house, I'll need to find him in the phone book. To do that, however, I'll need to know his last name. I'm sure I'll be able to find him on the internet somewhere. And even then, his address won't be listed under 'surname D'; it'll be under the initial of one of his parents. So I'll need to know which of them has a son named 'Daisuke', which will be a little tricky to find out. And all this only matters if he has indeed moved house. If he hasn't…I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But first things first; I need to find out what his last name is.

I've barely set foot outside the station when I'm being roughly pulled back in again and herded into a dark corner.

I'm about to say something very unpleasant; being prevented from going home when I have important Daisuke-related things to be getting on with is not a regular occurrence, but on the rare occasion that it does happen it tends to make me very irate. Especially when it's carried out in such a brutal fashion. I mean, really; what have I done to deserve being deprived of time to think about the gorgeous creature I usually spend a fifteen minute train journey with every day?

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but then I see just who it is who has me pinned into the uncomfortable corner and my mouth refuses to move. Those brown, hazy eyes are staring into mine, and they're so close that I can't see anything else.

"You're doing this on purpose," Daisuke accuses.

I can't argue, due to having been rendered completely speechless. There's no way I could possibly talk when he's looking at me like that, with his breath on my face, and he's so close that his scent is overpowering. It's all I can do to stand there, held upright by his hands burning against my shoulders and feeling embarrassed at my own lack of control when I hear myself gulp.

"Admit it," he continues, "you're tormenting me deliberately."

I'm awfully tempted not to answer, just so he'll speak again, but under these circumstances that simply isn't an option. I can't have him getting pissed and storming off, not now. If we were on the train then perhaps I wouldn't have minded, or maybe even enjoyed watching, but this is the best opportunity I'm ever likely to get. I will not be the fool to pass it up in favour of something so mundane.

Nevertheless, it takes quite a bit of effort on my part to get any words out at all. "On the contrary; I believe you'll find that this is your fault."

"My fault?" He leans closer; a millimetre further and our noses would be touching. "I'm not the one who flaunts himself at me every day!"

I blink, realising something that perhaps I should have realised before this point, and inadvertently change the subject. "What're you doing here?"

Yes, I think that's a valid point. Daisuke lives in Odaiba, not Tamachi. He has no real reason to be here.

"What am I doing?" He leans back again and I find myself missing the proximity. "It's your fault; you're making me do this."

"I'm making you do nothing."

"I even stopped getting the train to make you go away, but you wouldn't," he laughs, tightening his grip on my shoulders and causing my breath to hitch in my throat. "I can't stop thinking about you."

Unable to help myself, my gaze drops to his pouting lips and I impulsively lick my own.

"I've got to have you."

That's when everything stops. It's the last thing I hear before he crushes himself against me almost painfully, fisting his hands in my hair and forcing his tongue into my mouth. My immediate reaction is a very positive one; it feels wonderful, and he tastes so good that I can't get enough of it. But it's not right, so before it goes any further I switch our positions so that I'm the one pressing him to the wall, the kiss broken and both of us panting heavily.

"I hate to burst your bubble," I say, "but I've waited too long to let that happen. If anybody's having someone, it's going to be me."

And then there are no more words; instead there's just the overwhelming heat, passion and mindless want. Not that I'm complaining, of course. I knew he'd give in to me.