Warning: Hardcore stuff ahead. But, being a Saezuru fan, you can probably handle it.

Setting: Yashiro's apartment, not long after Time Number 5

Cast: Yashiro (confident, mostly relaxed, in a playful mood) and Doumeki (nervous, jealous, relieved not to be fired, making lunch)

Topic of conversation: Time Number 5

'Took a while to get everything out,' Yashiro announced to the apartment at large after his bath. 'Amazing how much difference one extra cock can make.'

Doumeki took a steady breath and continued methodically chopping the potatoes into cubes and shifted them to the side of the board with his knife. He drew a bunch of coriander out of the bag, held it down by the neck (Neck? No, stem. Stem…) and sliced the fluffy, trembling heads.

Damp-haired, Yashiro ambled into the kitchen wearing a new shirt and vaulted onto the counter opposite Doumeki. He privately congratulated himself on his growing list of one-handed gymnastics. Doumeki didn't turn around. With a small sigh, Yashiro picked an apple out of the nearby fruit bowl and munched, humming idly. His low voice reverberated off the hanging utensils in gentle waves of colour.

He wasn't bad, Doumeki thought. Not bad at all. The tune was familiar. Dry and sad. He tried to recall the name.

The oil was beginning to sizzle in the pan. Doumeki held his hand over the base, flat, to test the heat.

For no earthly reason whatsover, this simple act made Yashiro's heartbeat skyrocket. It was Doumeki's bandaged, four-fingered hand. He imagined the heat on that hand. He imagined how it would feel to press it, bare, to the stove. He imagined it inside him, thrusting like it was searching for something. Such an unnecessarily large hand. Who in their right mind would purposely engineer a hand that large?

'Have you fallen for me, Doumeki?'

The onions loudly turned brown in the pan.

'You have, haven't you?' A wet crunch of his apple. Through a mouthful: 'I suppose you think you've done a terrific job hiding it, too.' A chuckle. Sinister and light.

Doumeki had frozen. The back of his neck burned under that gaze.

It took an inhuman effort but he finally moved his hand an inch. Then he drew it back to himself fully. He reached for the carrots. A carrot. A long, thick carrot that tapered into a spindly, weak little point. He chopped.

'I'm curious. If you care about me so much, how did it feel? To watch me get fucked only an hour ago?'

From small, spindly little nothings to larger and larger circles. Bold orange on the circumference and weak, pale orange in the centre. All the circles alike, just differing in size.

'In a real spit roast, no less. You saw how they tied me up, right? It was Nakazawa who did that. Ota just stood there like a kid, watching while he tied the knots. Real sweet kid, just wanted to put his dick in something, didn't want to hurt anyone. Reminded me of you, actually. He even said "Careful!" once when Nakazawa took off my sling to tie my hands. Can you imagine?'

Yashiro slid closer to Doumeki. From there, he could touch him if he reached out his foot.

'Then Nakazawa stretched me out good and wide.'

Focus on the carrots. Don't cut yourself. Don't bleed into the stir fry.

'Literally took my ass cheeks in both hands and stretched them apart for ages. Minutes. I felt like my hole was going to tear. He didn't stick anything in for the longest time, just stretched it like a madman and stared. Listened to me whimper through the gag. Pretty sure Ota was jacking off by this stage, not that I was particularly focused on what he was doing.'

Even though neither Doumeki nor anyone else could see the boss' eyes in that moment, they had slowly taken on a manic glint over the course of his monologue. Yashiro's heart was hammering in its white cage and he didn't know why. He didn't care. He just knew he'd found a wound - a sore, soft, pulsing little place – and he wanted to twist the blade in as deep as it would go.

'So when he finally started fucking me,' he said, taking another huge bite. 'I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I think I did both. So he smashed my head onto the floor to shut me up. Deep-dicked me like that for a while. From the tip to the base, over and over until I was raw. I came hard just from the feeling of it, no one had to touch me anywhere else. Then Ota found his balls and came over, finally.'

That's enough, now. Yashiro ignored the voice. It sounded like a voice begging to be ignored.

'Not a bad piece on him, as it turned out. Shoved it in my mouth right to the hilt. I can still feel the bruise on the back of my throat. I choked and that made him come pretty much immediately. Nakazawa unloaded too. Both ends at once. A nice little coincidence.'

Green beans next. Doumeki found himself cursing the trembling knife.

'And that was just the first round. Both prime cocks.' Yashiro sighed nostalgically. He raised one foot and ran it gently along Doumeki's belt in the small of his back. 'Made me wonder what yours would be like if you ever got it working again. I bet it's spectacular. Or used to be, at least.'

Doumeki was harder then than he had been at any point in the past twenty-five years.

Yashiro's foot slid slowly across the belt towards the front. It reached further and further at a snail's pace.

No way the man's legs are that long, Doumeki told himself desperately. He tried to turn away. He wondered whether it would be more subtle if he took a step towards the fridge or flung himself out the kitchen window.

Yashiro suddenly laughed. The atmosphere broke in two. His foot was gone and he sprang lightly from the counter.

'I don't give a shit if you have feelings for me,' he said with cold nonchalance, finishing off the apple and throwing it at the waste basket. It bounced off the edge. He had to work on left-handed aim. 'Because you're like a bull without the horns. Nothing dangerous about you. I mean, what's a hornless bull? A cow! You're a sweet little dairy cow.'

He laughed again. Not the organic, raucous laughter brought about by the sight of Doumeki's impassive face above an absurd tiger sweater. This laughter was more controlled. More forced.

When Yashiro moved away, Doumeki's breathing relaxed but his hands still shook. And his little friend was still very much on alert. Go away, he begged. Please. You'll get us fired. He'll never want to see us again.

'Feelings and overprotectiveness are very bad traits for a bodyguard, you know. Very bad,' Yashiro went on relentlessly. He felt like he had talked for years and yet the garrulous, empty words kept pouring out of him. He was talking for the sake of talking. Bizarrely, he even felt like crying.

He doubled back to snatch a stray circle of carrot from the chopping board, grazing Doumeki's back and arm and wreaking havoc on his heart rate.

'Gets in the way of everything. Especially in our line of work. But, like I said, as far as you're concerned, who the hell cares?'

He popped the circular slice into his mouth and chewed.

'I hope you understand how lucky you are. Impotence is literally the only thread holding your job together.'

He suddenly looped a hand around Doumeki's waist and, with a confident chuckle, seized his cock. Hard.

Time froze. Even the onions sizzled quieter in the pan.

Yashiro's eyes widened. His jaw paused mid-chew.

Doumeki pulled away seconds too late. He could only hear someone else's pulse in his ears. The onions, he realised quite seriously, were starting to go black from lack of attention.

'Well, well...'

Shit.

'Well, well, well…'

Please don't…

'Please don't –' The words had actually sputtered out of him. A fleck of spittle hit the pan and sizzled beside the charring onions.

'Please don't what?' Yashiro sounded a little stunned.

'Please don't tell my sister.' His mind was reeling, grasping. 'If you're going to fire me. She says she's proud of me. That I work for you. She doesn't even care what you do. She...'

But he stopped because Yashiro was laughing again. Doumeki braced himself and then finally turned around.

Tears had gathered in the corners of Yashiro's eyes and the laughter was nearing hysterical. Doumeki felt a chill.

'Your sister,' Yashiro gasped, almost doubled up. 'You spring a boner for the first time that I've ever seen and the first thing you do is beg me not to tell your sister?'

He dissolved into unrestrained cackles, chest heaving.

Although a chill still clung to him, Doumeki felt a tiny ray of hope.

'So I'm… I'm not fired?'

Yashiro straightened, wiping his eyes. 'Oh, you're definitely fired.'

'But –'

'Moron, are you deaf? Didn't you hear what I was just telling you? I won't have this kind of shit getting in the way of work. I warned you when you first came to me. God!' He was suddenly done laughing. 'No wonder you went all alpha on Nakazawa today. You've been getting hard all over the place and just not telling me, haven't you?'

Nakazawa's name was like a shard of glass in Doumeki's foot.

Yashiro's face was still a little flushed from laughing but he had regained control. He inhaled steadily and arranged his features in a way he knew would be impossible to read. Cold and composed, with the hint of a wry, dry little smile that saw through the bullshit of the world. Doumeki watched from very far away.

You've heard stuff about me from Kirishima, haven't you?

There he was, stiff-backed and nervous as hell, sitting for the first time in Yashiro's presence. Was that only months ago? He had been star struck under that steady gaze.

Tell me. I won't get mad.

He had answered the question honestly because, at the time, he couldn't summon any other useful part of his mind.

He smiles even when he's mad, he'd replied evenly. So be careful.

Doumeki's heart sank to the bottom of a deep, dark well. He knew now there was no arguing with that smile. The boss had made up his mind.

Absent-mindedly, Yashiro ran a hand through his hair, eyebrows lifted, testing to see how much it had dried. He turned away.

'Go,' was the simple command. 'Go to the office, get your stuff and go. You'll get a severance cheque and all that. But I don't want to see you again.'

'Boss, please –'

A withering look.

'I'm not your boss anymore.'

That was all it took. After that, there was an audible snap somewhere. At least Doumeki was sure there was because he heard it. He could even identify that it was a leathery sort of snap, like a belt or cord holding something back. Holding something together. And when it snapped, with that snappy, leathery sort of snap, everything tumbled and seized and overwhelmed. All those tertiary emotions he couldn't analyse before. And at the head of them all, like a helmeted captain, a very uncomplicated primary desire leading the charge.

Defile.

Yashiro saw it out of the corner of his eye and he realised he couldn't have stopped it even if he tried.

A suddenly towering, glowering Doumeki grabbed him for a beat or two by the shirt front and then, without warning, threw him over his shoulder.

'What the f-?'

For a moment there, for the first time since he was shot, he almost felt real fear. The feeling shot straight to his cock and built all the way to the bedroom where Doumeki hurled him onto the bed.

His shirt was torn off with such force that buttons actually flew. He felt a sharp pain in his right arm when the sleeve pulled away. Pants were tugged off in one breath as well. His sling barely made it through the assault.

'Ah! Fuck, Doumeki, wait –'

'Shut up.'

The words and tone were more shocking than the hand on his cock, squeezing and stroking entirely too hard. He tried to sit up but Doumeki pushed him back immediately and held him down as he stroked. Yashiro wanted to paint the image of his face into his eyelids permanently. It was the closest he'd ever come, he realised out of nowhere, to wanting a tattoo.

Suddenly Doumeki's hand was off his cock and in his ass. Two fingers. Without any preamble. Yashiro exhaled in surprise. How wishes come true.

Doumeki also made a sound for the first time, even closed his eyes briefly. He had imagined this heat for so long that it was almost unreal. He pushed in a third finger. He heard Yashiro grunt in pain. He was causing it. He revelled in it.

And yet, when he looked down, he saw a shade of pain in Yashiro's features that almost… irritated him. It wasn't real pain. Not yet.

He yanked his ass up in the air so Yashiro's legs hung almost near his face and gathered all the spit he could muster. The hole puckered and twitched when the frothy liquid landed.

With that, he lowered him back to the bed and held him down. Unbuckling his belt one-handed, he slid out through his fly and lined himself up. The heat, even on the tip of his cock, was incredible.

Yashiro held his breath. It was big. Far too big. Just like the bastard's hands and feet and height and everything else about him. He shivered with urgent need and, again, with fear.

There. The whites of his eyes. Doumeki stared hard and pushed with everything he had.

He tore his way into Yashiro's body and the pain was profound. It seared and burned. None of the pleasure, all of the agony. Yashiro's eyes rolled in the back of his head and he came instantly, all over his stomach and Doumeki's hand.

The convulsing of his ass was almost too much for Doumeki but somehow he held himself back. He waited until he had settled, even counted to ten, then drew himself out almost all the way.

Yashiro, recovering from his climax, felt every inch of the withdrawal. Even that burned. There was not enough lube. Not enough by a long shot. Not even if he was being fucked by a normal-sized penis.

'Wait,' he managed to gasp, head tilted back, his good arm reaching up. 'You idiot, you need to –'

'Shut up,' Doumeki hissed again. And he plunged.

Yashiro let out a haggard cry. And another. And another. For every thrust, he saw stars, then red, then stars again, then streaks of evil yellow. All shades. There would be blood for sure. He gasped for air.

'So… so good!'

Even through Doumeki's mounting pleasure and his own pain (How the hell can anything in the world be this unthinkably tight?) Yashiro's voice, weak and trembling and breathless as it was, set off a bright flare of anger.

He slid his bandaged hand to Yashiro's throat and held it down. He didn't squeeze, he just pressed against the larynx hard enough so Yashiro would struggle to form words. So his moans would emerge in chokes.

Yashiro felt as though he had stumbled into a dream. His body was being ripped into again and again while breath struggle to filter into his lungs. He stared into Doumeki's glinting, unblinking eyes and felt another climax building. This couldn't be real. Doumeki couldn't be this... good. Not his bumbling oaf of a bodyguard.

Suddenly, he felt the cold air of emptiness as Doumeki pulled out completely. The hand was off his throat too. Yashiro was flipped over and his face pressed into the bed in the same breath that Doumeki shoved his cock back in fully.

A familiar warmth now, Doumeki thought surreally. Boss was a familiar warmth.

I'm not your boss anymore.

Yashiro heard the clasp being released on his sling and suddenly Doumeki had taken it off. His dead hand fell to the bed like a… like a flaccid dick. He grinned.

The grin vanished when Doumeki grabbed his arm, his gunshot-wounded right arm, tightly. And pulled it back, as hard as he could, twisting it behind Yashiro's back.

Yashiro's strangled shriek rang out in the room. For a split second, Doumeki wondered about the possibility of the cops being called. He didn't release his grip or ease the merciless pace of his thrusts even a little. Let them come.

The sheets beneath Yashiro were soaked with tears. He came again, silently this time but even harder than before, his body rocked by uncontrollable spasms.

I think, with you, the sex would be gentle. So, no.

His own words came back to him and he started laughing again. He laughed and laughed through his tears and that sight, finally, pushed Doumeki over the edge. He thrust in as far as he could go, still holding Yashiro's injured arm behind his back, and gushed hotly inside him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, Doumeki Chikara wasn't sure what brought him back to the real world. Could have been a few things.

1: The unreal sight of his own semen leaking out of Boss' ass. 2: The shivering, naked body itself, curled up on the bed. 3: Yashiro's short whimpers as he cradled his right arm. 4: The blood smeared on the front of his own shirt.

Probably the blood, actually. Yes, almost definitely the blood.

It took him a few muddled seconds to even understand where it had come from.

'Boss…'

Yashiro heard the tremor in Doumeki's voice and found himself missing the sex-edition of Doumeki already.

Beads of pain, like pearls, were running together in strings beneath the muscles of his arm, dying out at his wrist where his dead hand flopped, not feeling a thing. And there was the throbbing in his rectum. The aching muscles of his thighs and good arm. The feeling that if he moved any one thing, everything would hurt. He was in heaven.

He felt the weight shift on the mattress and felt Doumeki hovering.

'Get the sling,' he said shakily.

Doumeki found it on the floor and brought it to Yashiro's side. He suddenly didn't seem to know what to do with himself. Yashiro's heart constricted in a totally disagreeable way. He sat up slowly and gingerly.

Try as he might, he was unable to catch Doumeki's gaze even once as they tried to ease his trembling arm back into the sling.

'Boss,' Doumeki mumbled eventually, his voice small and hoarse.

'Not your boss anymore.'

Amazing how much that still hurt.

'We should… you should go see Kageyama.'

Yashiro laughed without humour. 'And try to explain how this happened? Kageyama would shoot you where you stood.'

Doumeki felt winded and nauseous.

In that moment, a piercing, robotic shriek filled the silence. Doumeki's head whipped around.

His alarm clock. Please. Surely he was about to wake and guide himself through Time Number 5. This time he would do better.

'Unbelievable,' Yashiro quipped. 'It's the fire alarm. You really are a prize fucking idiot.'

The onions blackening helplessly. The stove he'd never turned off. The smell of one of his many mistakes of the day suddenly leaked into the apartment like a poisonous gas.

Yashiro struggled to the edge of the bed and stood up slowly. Doumeki now noticed, aghast, the drops of blood mingled with the semen spilling down his thigh.

'Clean up your mess,' Yashiro said to the far wall. He then turned and managed to hold Doumeki's gaze in his own like a grip. 'The one in the kitchen, I mean. Then get out.'