It made no sense for the word 'jealous' to even crop up in Misumi's mental vocabulary. He'd seen Yashiro covered in semen and being ravaged by five or six different guys at once. (That, in fact, was how they'd met.) He'd heard his own superiors snickering and bragging about their latest round with the public toilet. He'd watched Yashiro twisted in countless positions, seen him gag on a million dicks that weren't Misumi's, seen his insatiable lust for cock. Any cock.

And yet he'd felt an odd, unfamiliar surge of protectiveness teetering close to jealousy when he first laid eyes on that lumbering mastiff, Doumeki. 'Fire him,' he'd said immediately. (His philosophy had always been to conceal uncomfortable feelings with obvious, outward displays of those uncomfortable feelings.) Naturally, Yashiro had laughed and ignored him.

Misumi was confident Yashiro had never really known. And he wanted it to remain that way. Father and son. That's what he told himself, and anyone who would listen.

Only Amou had any inkling. It started that day he walked in on Misumi furiously jerking off to an old recording of himself thrusting into a twenty-year-old bound-and-gagged Yashiro on his office floor. He'd tried to pass it off as a horny old man reminiscing about his glory days, but something in Amou's judgmental/non-judgmental stare said he knew different. Misumi had always been slightly wary of him since.

Now, as they walked into the arrivals waiting area at Narita Airport in Tokyo, Misumi kept a fatherly (fatherly!) eye on Yashiro. No one else could have picked up on the tense, edgy anticipation that clung to Yashiro like an aura, the ironic smile he couldn't quite bat down when Doumeki came into view, his head and shoulders easily rising above the rest of the crowd.

And then he became aware that Amou was watching him watching Yashiro watching Doumeki watching Yashiro. He sighed at that pathetic train and broke it by looking away.

'I'll see you, Yashiro,' he said, turning to go.

At first Misumi thought he hadn't heard. But then Yashiro turned, threw Misumi a warm grin and raised his hand in that casual, lazy way of his.

'Did you buy the cushion I texted you about?'

'Yes, Boss.'

Doumeki lifted Yashiro's bag into the trunk of the spotless new Lexus. Yashiro stretched and took in a deep lungful of air.

'Good. Toss it on the backseat. My ass is sore like you wouldn't believe.'

He timed it well (counted to three) then laughed at Doumeki's expression.

'From sitting in one place for four hours. Your jealousy should be a national pastime, it's so entertaining.'

To be fair, it hadn't been an expression so much as a tell-tale blink; a blink that was only an iota more forced than any other blink. But Yashiro had picked up on it. He now considered himself an expert in this vein.

The inside of the Lexus was infused with the scent of expensive leather. Yashiro ran a hand appreciatively over the smooth seats.

'Should I take you to yours, Boss?'

'Yes. No. I don't know.'

Eyes in the rear view mirror, waiting.

'Let's just drive. We'll see where we end up. People don't drive for the fun of it anymore. Why is that?'

Doumeki started the car and thought about it seriously. 'Gas prices. Global warming. Traffic congestion. Lack of free ti–'

'That's the most words I've ever heard you say in a row.'

Doumeki heard the ice in his tone and clammed up quickly.

The Lexus blended in with afternoon traffic headed for central Tokyo. There was a gentle mist of rain in the air that required an occasional flick of the wipers.

'How was your trip, Boss?' he asked at length.

'Oh, you know. Pretty average. Hirata was there. That was fun. I smiled and shook hands with him and he went all these different shades of red. It's like everyone knows he tried to kill me but no one's done anything about it yet. Misumi slammed him in one of the meetings about something unrelated. Like he was waiting for an excuse to do it. Can't remember what he said exactly but I nearly wet myself laughing afterwards. He's a good Oyaji*, that Misumi.'

Doumeki took the next exit on a whim. He felt his limbs loosen and his mind relax. Boss had a point. People should drive just for the sake of it more often.

'Misumi also figured out who organised that shooting a week ago,' Yashiro added.

'Was it Hirata?'

'Not exactly. It's a long, boring story.'

The rain came down a touch more heavily.

'But anyway. Taipei was nice enough.' He reached for a cigarette. 'The men there are bigger than they are here.'

He leaned forwards and blew the smoke from his first drag near Doumeki's ear. He draped his left arm across the top of the driver's seat.

'Not quite in your league though.'

Doumeki felt Yashiro's breath on his neck and kept his eyes on the road.

'Would you believe me if I said I didn't have sex with anyone there?'

Doumeki didn't know how to respond.

'For a whole week. Not a single dick. Not even a hand-job under the desk in one of the meetings. I nearly died from withdrawal. Want to know how I kept from going crazy?'

Doumeki steeled himself. 'How?'

'Phone sex.' He smiled. 'And not the kind you're thinking of. That was fun too, I guess. A bit jarring in places because you're such a relentless moron, but not bad. I'm talking about a different kind of phone sex.'

His finger traced the scar on Doumeki's cheek.

'See, I did consider fucking some of the guys there. There were a few lookers, too. But the last time I got fucked was by you and I didn't feel like being disappointed by a cock that didn't quite measure up. It's always a gamble how big the machinery is when the clothes come off. What to do? Conundrum, isn't it? So I started improvising. With people, it's a gamble. But as for your basic, everyday objects just lying around in, say, a hotel room, there's an open honesty to them, isn't there?'

Doumeki tried to follow his boss' narrative as he made an arbitrary left turn. Whether he understood properly or not, he was aware of two things. 1: The front of his pants was getting tighter. 2: Boss hasn't slept with anyone else since me.

'Let's take a wine bottle, for instance. A nice tapered neck, a decent girth. Slipped in like a charm.'

The picture emerged vividly and Doumeki's cock was painfully hard.

'But it wasn't wide enough. So I moved on. It was like sampling things at a fair. The shampoo bottles, the handle of the blow dryer, the TV remote, even the little vase that had a single rose in it. But none of them quite did the trick. I kept picturing your cock, after all. Hard to live up to. And then I saw the phone. Just one of those cordless hotel phones they put on the bedside table. Thick and black. Too thick. And it fit perfectly with the image in my head.'

Yashiro glanced down, pleased at the reaction his words were eliciting.

'That phone made me come about fifteen times in total during the trip.' He slid his hand down Doumeki's chest. 'We have this deep, emotional connection now. Almost wish I'd smuggled it back with me. Phone sex,' he summarised. 'Clever, right?'

He slipped his hand past Doumeki's belt and held his erection in his hand for the first time. He exhaled happily.

'How the hell did you manage to keep this a secret?' Yashiro murmured.

Doumeki's breathing suffered under the warmth and insistence of Yashiro's hand. He wondered for the umpteenth time why he hadn't been given the boot. Properly, anyway. He knew he'd rather slice off another finger before he dared to ask the question.

'I still haven't been able to give you a blow job while you're hard,' Yashiro complained in his smooth-as-silk voice. 'I tried to before but you stopped me with that useless make out session instead.'

'Was I bad at that, Boss?' Doumeki didn't even realise it was something he was worried about until he spoke.

Yashiro remembered his tongue and hands, the weight of his torso pushing him against the car.

Instead of replying, he heaved himself up and squeezed into the front passenger seat. Doumeki threw him a nervous sideways glance. Yashiro took a few more deep drags before flicking his cigarette out the window. He then bent over and unzipped Doumeki's pants.

'I'll pull over.'

'No need.'

Yashiro planned to devour his cock as soon as he saw it but he actually took a second, resting his head on his hand on Doumeki's lap, to marvel. Perfect curve, thickness, length, head. A cock designed in a lab.

Somewhere miles above, Doumeki resisted the urge to close his eyes. Sweat had gathered on his face.

Then Yashiro swallowed him whole, in one move, right to the base. Doumeki gasped. The Lexus swerved over the median strip before righting itself.

Highlights from Doumeki's first real blow job from his boss:

-Boss' divine skill: Lips, hand, tongue, throat, even a flash of teeth to keep him on edge. Not to mention suction, friction, speed. It was the best blow job of his life by a mile and a half.

-The sounds Boss made: Moans near the tip that sent vibrations to all of Doumeki's extremities, and choking gags when he took him deep into his throat.

-Taking the initiative: Reached an arm over Yashiro's stooped form and wrenched his pants off his hips and ass where it was hovering in the air, exposing white skin. Then he spat on his fingers, found the opening and pushed in.

-The new sounds Boss made: An anthology of desperate moans and whimpers, pulsing to Doumeki's fingers, all of which Doumeki felt through his cock.

Major detractors during Doumeki's first real blow job from his boss:

-Boss' hair being off-limits: Tried to touch it once, causing Yashiro to pull off his cock and slap his hand away. 'At least one hand on the wheel. Your driving's been bad enough since I started.'

-Inability to multitask: Didn't check blind spot during lane change, narrowly avoided killing a cyclist.

-Terrible driving alerting patrol car: Blue and red flashed through the rain behind them. Boss stopped sucking briefly to tell him to pull over, voice like a razor blade.

-Boss' innate love of voyeurism: Even when they were parked on the side of the road and the cop was walking up to them, pad in hand, Yashiro's mouth and hand kept at it. Doumeki's powers of concentration were now entirely focused on not coming.

-Boss and the cop knowing each other: Pleasantries were exchanged, Yashiro smiling calmly from Doumeki's lap beside his stiff, precum-leaking cock. Between the cop and Doumeki, it was hard to say who was the more uncomfortable. Doumeki kept his gaze trained through the windshield.

-Boss and the cop knowing each other in that way: 'Been a while since you were in this big guy's place, hasn't it?' The cop, getting steadily more wet in the rain, was bright crimson at this point.

-Boss inviting the cop to join in: 'There's an unused hole back there.' Voice like silk again. The cop stared, flabbergasted, at Yashiro's bare ass. Palpable tug of temptation. But then he caught Doumeki's eye for the first time and blanched. From where he was, Yashiro didn't catch the very clear Touch my boss and die signals being transmitted by his bodyguard. Cop politely refused, issued weak warning about safe driving, retreated into the rain.

A few blocks later, the Lexus glided through a quiet residential area and Doumeki came hard into Yashiro's mouth. He kept thrusting his fingers into Yashiro's ass until he finished too.

After a half-minute of gasping and breath-catching, Yashiro turned over onto his back and lay with his head on Doumeki's lap, legs splayed over the back of the passenger seat and the dashboard.

'Such a bad place to put a handbrake,' he said, shifting slightly.

'You okay, Boss?'

'Peachy.'

Doumeki pulled his gaze from the road for as long as he dared. Yashiro's eyes were closed. Sanguine smile. The picture of contentment.

Either the rain let up or they'd driven far enough to have outrun it. Doumeki made more turns on autopilot, his mind a pleasant blank. He was starting to get hungry but he would happily drive to all the way to the Sea of Japan if Yashiro didn't tell him to stop.

'I'm hungry,' Yashiro declared. 'Where are we?'

Doumeki focused on the road. He suddenly recognised it.

'Uh…'

'What?'

Yashiro opened his eyes lazily. Doumeki always looked good from this angle, he thought.

When no reply was forthcoming, he tried again. 'Where've you taken us?'

Doumeki couldn't be sure when exactly it happened, especially because he certainly hadn't taken the shortest route from the airport, but when his conscious mind switched off, it appeared he had blindly steered them to his own neighbourhood. His apartment was about two minutes away.

'We're near my place.'

Yashiro lifted his eyebrows.

'The Doumeki residence. How intriguing.'

Doumeki was suddenly nervous. The image came to him; Boss with his perfect hair, clean-cut shoulders, glossy vest, left hand in his pocket, standing in his small, very average flat, where just around the corner lurked that damned rust-speckled towel railing. The image didn't seem real.

'We can go somewhere else -'

'Nope.'

'There's a restaurant just around -'

'Nope.'

'But there's nothing to eat at my -'

'I'm sure you can scrounge something together.' Yashiro sat up in the passenger's seat and lit another cigarette. His eyes twinkled beneath half-lids. 'So we're all in agreement? Great. Your place it is.'