Setting: Kageyama's clinic, about a week after the final showdown with Hirata

Cast: Yashiro (needing stitches in his face), Doumeki (mostly unharmed) and Kageyama (wishing he was anywhere else)

Topic of conversation: How Doumeki threw a guy out of a twentieth-storey window

The silence in the room was loud and painful. Kageyama and Doumeki had managed to completely avoid looking at one another.

Yashiro sat on the bed, enjoying the tension like it was a warm bath. Kageyama's needle punctured his skin just above his left eyebrow. The thread followed through slowly but firmly, the skin whitening where it pulled taught. Yashiro had refused a topical anaesthetic, of course. He experienced small, effervescent shocks in his dick every time the needle pierced him.

Kageyama felt Yashiro's eyes on him and tried to concentrate on the needle. He was also very aware of Doumeki looming by the doorway, monitoring his every move, knuckles red with some poor fucker's blood.

No one had spoken for a while. Kageyama felt the weight of the silence and knew that Yashiro was dying to break it. He was only dragging it out for effect.

Sure enough:

'Don't you want to know how this happ–?'

'No.'

'Come on, Kage! It's such a good story.'

'Stop talking, I can't do this right if your head's moving!'

'It all started because Doumeki has this small problem with other men fucking me.'

The needle slipped, nearly stabbing Yashiro's temple. 'Yashiro, for God's sake!'

'After everything that happened with Hirata, we had to cover our tracks well enough so the police don't start getting annoying…'

A few days ago:

'I need a favour,' Yashiro said into the phone. After a pause, he grinned. 'Very clever. But don't feel like you have to make puns on my behalf. Of course I'm offering sex in exchange. How long have you known me?'

Doumeki summoned dead horses, chopping carrots, wild sheep; anything to help him relax. It worked, for the most part. He could see the white knuckles of his fists, but he was fairly sure nothing else had changed.

Nothing else had changed.

Gunshot wounds. Confessions. Cringe-worthy moments of tenderness. Earth-shattering sex.

But nothing else had changed.

You're an idiot, he told himself firmly in Boss' voice. After everything you've seen, was there really a part of you that was hoping you'd run off to Bora Bora and Boss would never look at another cock but yours again?

Yes, Doumeki answered before he could stop himself.

Well, the Boss-voice replied. If that's the case, then you're stupid enough to deserve being on the other side of the door. Time Number 6, my friend.

They made their way to the hotel. Yashiro occasionally threw him a glance, unsure what he was expecting. Doumeki's face was like a still life. Even Sugimoto could feel the tension as they drew up to the hotel door. Deja-vu, he thought, hoping he wouldn't have to be left with Doumeki's steaming pile of beaten-up-cop like last time.

'It's happening you know,' Yashiro said, his voice flat.

Doumeki nodded once. Just like he'd practiced.

'We need him if we want the Organised Crime Division to sweep something so massive under the rug. Need someone with a big broom. For all that sweeping.'

Doumeki didn't reply.

'You're okay with that? You won't go blundering in to kill the guy?'

Sugimoto glanced up nervously.

'I will do what Boss wants,' Doumeki said tersely.

Yashiro wasn't sure if he was reassured or disappointed. A huge part of him wanted to spark that destructive jealousy. He had even played with the idea of an angry threesome in his immediate future.

He tried to catch Doumeki's eye before he went inside the room but he never looked up. Yashiro saw with an almost guilty thrill that his knuckles were white.

Afterwards, they couldn't find Doumeki for a while.

When Yashiro re-emerged, an agitated Sugimoto was outside alone, trying to explain that Doumeki had left soon after the sounds started.

An hour later, when he opened the door to Doumeki's flat, the first thing Yashiro noticed was the vase of wilting flowers in the kitchen. He recognised them and laughed incredulously.

From the couch where he was sitting, elbows on his lap and glaring at the floor, Doumeki didn't even look up. His tie hung almost to his shoes.

'If I made a list of things you've done that would have gotten any other bodyguard fired, I'd... well, it'd be a long list.'

Expecting no response, Yashiro moved to the couch and sat beside him, wincing slightly. It had only been an hour, after all, since he'd helped with all that sweeping.

'How long are you going to sulk?'

The long line of Doumeki's jaw reminded him of something from early childhood. Something good. Something solid. The room smelled like him.

'I'll make it easier for you. You can sulk…' Yashiro moved closer and ran a finger up Doumeki's shoulder. 'Or you can –'

But Doumeki shrugged him off before he could finish. He got off the couch.

Yashiro stared.

'Okay, the tantrum is starting to piss me off.'

His voice came out sounding far more wounded than he would have liked.

'Are you even listening?'

'If I touch you now, I'll hurt you,' Doumeki said softly.

Yashiro's heart thudded.

'I thought we've been through this. Masochism 101.'

But this was different. Doumeki was different. Almost frightening. It wasn't sexual anger or the explosive, sprightly jealousy that triggered his inner sadist; colours and flavours that Yashiro revelled in.

This was emotional. Deep. This reached places of tenderness and longstanding demons. The stuff of souls.

As intimidating as it was, Yashiro also had to bite back a surge of disgust. It was probably best that they didn't touch after all.

He stood up to leave, angriest at his own expanding, irrational feelings of guilt.

'Be at work tomorrow. No excuses.'

Ota was the first one who caught the brunt of Doumeki's rage.

(Mob situation in one bullet point: Since the Hirata showdown, he was being held by Shinseikai, escaped, tracked down by Yashiro and Doumeki, and beaten by the latter to within an inch of his life.)

'Jesus, Doumeki!'

Ota's face was barely recognisable. Doumeki stepped away, panting like he'd run a marathon. A minute ago, as he was slamming his fist into Ota's nose, Doumeki could only think about Time Number 5 and how much the bastard had sweated as he pushed his cock down his boss' throat.

Doumeki's eyes were terrifying. Yashiro felt it all, the whole delicious scene, in a familiar place and tried hard to control himself.

After that incident, Doumeki ended up trembling, livid, barely in control.

Yashiro ended up having to seriously reconsider this new, somewhat unexpected state of affairs.

Ota ended up in hospital in a coma.

So it really was just poor timing for Inami, that ugly gorilla of a cop from the Organised Crime Division (Time Number 4), when he decided to make his second ever appearance.

Yashiro's staff at reception had no idea who he was and, having been given a false name, they let him and a few guys into the building.

At the time, Yashiro was on the phone at his desk and Doumeki stood at the table near the door pouring him a scotch, having a strange existential moment where he doubted his own existence. Who was he really? Why was one of his fingers missing?

Then Inami and his thugs burst through his reverie and the door.

They recognised each other immediately. Doumeki reached for his gun but one of Inami's men pulled one on him much quicker and he was forced to freeze. Inami himself threw his knee into Doumeki's stomach. Doumeki doubled up, gasping.

'That's for last time, you asshole.'

He then closed the office door and locked it.

At his desk, Yashiro calmly replaced the phone on the receiver. One gun was pointed at him, three at Doumeki.

'Inami,' he said warmly. 'Nice to see you again. To be honest, though, I thought I had already settled my affairs with the Organised Crime Division.'

'I'm not with the OCD anymore,' Inami said, turning to approach the desk. 'In fact, I'm not a cop at all anymore, thanks to you.'

(Mob/cop situation in half a bullet point: Discovered by the police for being a dirty cop not long after fucking Yashiro, somewhat irrationally blames him for it, plus maybe a few other more viable reasons for his new, powerful hatred and why he now has goons)

'My condolences,' said Yashiro. 'You're a real loss to the force.'

'Shut the fuck up.'

Inami leaned over the desk. Yashiro remembered how he'd pulled that rough-cut face towards him for a kiss. Just to shut him up. So Doumeki wouldn't kill him. By the look on Doumeki's face from the other side of the room, it was clear he also hadn't forgotten that episode in the slightest.

'Bit stupid of you to come in here, of all places, to kill me,' Yashiro chided.

'No one's going to die,' said Inami, who'd never heard of dramatic irony. 'I'm just going to rough you up a bit, maybe shoot your dog in the leg if he pisses me off enough, and then leave the building before anyone else catches on. Quick and easy. I prefer doing things in the open.'

'That's one thing we have in common.'

'Stand up.'

Yashiro flicked his eyes to the guns pointed at Doumeki. He stood.

Inami took a few steps around the desk and lashed Yashiro brutally across the face with the butt of his gun.

'Boss!'

One of the goons had to slam his gun between Doumeki's shoulder blades to bring him back to his knees.

Yashiro saw a blinding light and the left side of his forehead felt like it had split open. Mostly because it had. He fell against the desk.

Inami held him down, hatred and lust hardening his features. He didn't at all expect the solid kick to his groin. Yashiro then threw another well-aimed kick at Inami's head which sent him staggering backwards, gun clattering away. Feeling blood trickle down his face, Yashiro tried to reach for the gun in his drawer but Inami was up again and slammed Yashiro's head against the desk.

Guns or no guns, Doumeki had to be physically held back by all three goons. There was only one brief moment when he stopped struggling and that was when he heard Yashiro cry out.

The cry wasn't from anger or desperation but from having been very powerfully and immediately turned on.

Doumeki knew this because he recognised it. Inami discovered this when he pulled Yashiro's pants down.

'What the –?'

Yashiro took advantage of his surprise to sock him in the mouth but Inami recovered fast. He punched Yashiro in the same place where his gun had made contact. Yashiro fell limply back on the desk. He didn't move.

That was when Doumeki heard a leathery snap.

A gun was wrenched out of one of the goons' hands at the same time that Doumeki's elbow crunched the nose of another one directly behind him. He shot at chests, legs, whatever was in his way.

Inami had only just unzipped his fly when the implausibly large man with the scar on his face bore down on him like a storm.

Yashiro, briefly dazed and unconscious, came round to the sight (and unmistakable sound) of Doumeki making a mash out of Inami's face on the office floor. He also noticed his pants had been yanked to just below his hips and that he was still hard.

'Ugh,' he grunted feeling his head. His fingers came away bloody. A light trickle dripped over his eye.

Doumeki, possessed, pounded away.

Yashiro turned to him and watched. His cock twitched.

'Doumeki.'

Whenever he had the opportunity to do so, Inami whimpered weakly.

'Stop.' Yashiro tried to sit up. 'Think of the carpet, for God's sake.'

He was hoping to jolt Doumeki back to reality with something stupid and mundane. It didn't entirely work. Even after Doumeki stopped, the possessed glint remained in his eyes. He reviewed the mess of Inami's face.

Without giving any indication that he'd made a decision, he took Inami by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to the large window overlooking the Tokyo skyline. Yashiro's heart leapt to his throat.

'Doumeki…'

Throwing the window open, he yanked the blubbering, terrified man to his feet.

His expression was an artwork of single-minded hate. Yashiro had seen that look twice before; when he beat Ota nearly to death, and, weeks ago, right before he put a bullet between Nakazawa's eyes.

He barely made a sound as he hurled the fully grown man out of the building.

Inami, ex-cop, met hard concrete twenty storeys later.

Doumeki stayed by the window for a few beats, chest heaving. As if twenty storeys may not have done the trick. When he turned, he was greeted by the sight of Yashiro bleeding heavily from the gash on his forehead, lying back on his desk and jerking himself off furiously. His eyes were on Doumeki like he was the only thing that ever existed.

He barely noticed the other guys lying around dead or groaning.

He crossed the space to Yashiro, pulled him forward and flipped him over. Then he flattened Yashiro's good hand on the surface of the desk and crushed his sling beneath the weight of both their bodies, pushing a plaintive moan out of him. Finally, he freed his cock and lined it up.

Through the new fireworks of pain, Yashiro suddenly realised something and started laughing.

'You know,' he gasped between laughs. 'This is how we first met.'

Doumeki paused. Office desk, face-down, ass bare. There had even been a cop involved.

He pushed his palm and fingers through Yashiro's hair for a long moment that hung in the air. Then he clenched that hand, slammed Yashiro's face down and drove his cock in to the hilt.

By then people had been banging on the door for a while. Someone was sent to fetch the spare key. There were thoughts about knocking the door down. Yashiro and Doumeki didn't have a great deal of time.

Luckily, they didn't need it.

The details of that day echoed in Yashiro's mind for days. Weeks. He couldn't shake them. He was worried that nothing else in his life would ever compare to those few minutes.

He was still thinking about it when he sat across from a new face. Someone whose freshness reminded him of Ota (before Ota went bad). Someone whose eyes travelled from his face to his cock to his legs every few seconds and was waiting for Yashiro to say, Perhaps we can sweeten the deal. In fact, to Yashiro's delight, the guy eventually worked up the nerve to say almost those exact words.

It was a scene that took him back. He was on the couch opposite new-Ota, Doumeki not far behind him. A large, firm outline in the corner of his eye.

Yashiro took a few moments, his arm flung along the back of the couch, to consider his next words. New-Ota and new-Ota's men and Doumeki and Nanahara all awaited his response. Doumeki thought about dead horses, chopped carrots and wild sheep.

'Before I answer,' Yashiro eventually said, loud enough for new-Ota to jump slightly. 'I think I should consult my bodyguard.'

He turned right around to Doumeki.

'What do you think? Should I sleep with this guy for the sake of making a deal?'

Doumeki, hands behind his back, glanced over at his boss in confusion. New-Ota and Nanahara seemed just as lost.

'Well, Doumeki?' Yashiro said, leaning his cheek against his hand. 'Everyone's waiting for your answer. Should I let this guy do me? He doesn't look like he'd be that rough, does he?'

New-Ota blushed deeply.

Doumeki tried to find the words. He didn't understand the game.

'Boss… Boss should do what he wants.'

'And I want for you to tell this fine gentleman whether you're okay with my getting fucked by him. Doumeki?'

There was a tense silence. Nanahara heard his pulse in his ears.

'No,' Doumeki said, finally.

Yashiro turned back and gave new-Ota a cheerful one-shoulder shrug.

'You heard him.'

New-Ota turned a different shade. 'What the hell kind of game is this?'

'The kind of game that Nakazawa, Ota and Inami all played,' said Yashiro in the same laidback tone, putting a cigarette to his lips. 'And lost,' he added unnecessarily. By then, everyone had heard about Inami at least.

Everyone in the room stared uneasily at Doumeki. Yashiro alone focused on his lighter. After he took his first drag, he smiled evenly at new-Ota.

'You know, I consider myself an open-minded guy. I'm willing to try working out a deal that doesn't involve fucking. I'm actually excited to try it. What do you say?'

If not for the absence of birds, Doumeki would have been convinced he was dreaming.

A few weeks later:

'Do you know what they're calling me now?' Yashiro asked, caught somewhere between annoyed and pleased.

'What, Boss?'

'Untouchable. Bet you're pretty proud of yourself.'

Doumeki remained impassive. He was busy trying to remember how to arrange teapots and cups on the tray in preparation for Misumi's visit.

'I miss multiple cocks.' Yashiro sighed tragically and hung his head off the couch, legs draped over the armrest and couch back. 'What if we occasionally threw someone a bone? Like got Ryuuzaki to join in? Or Nanahara, I know he's being dying to have me give him a blowjob.'

Doumeki took a moment.

'Whatever Boss wan–'

'Yeah, yeah, whatever Boss wants.'

Yashiro closed his eyes. He'd seen what that meant. Trembling, homicidal rage and cold distance for days. No thanks.

There was a knock on the door and Misumi came in. It was still strange, Yashiro thought, to see him without Amou at his elbow. It was like he was off-balance.

'Hey, Oyaji.'

Misumi sat on the couch and immediately fished for his cigarettes. He seemed drawn.

'How's the search for a new wife coming?' Yashiro asked, still mostly upside down.

'It's not,' Misumi answered.

'I'm sure you'll find someone.'

'Don't know if I want to.'

Doumeki glanced at him as he placed the tray on the table. For a brief moment, he felt for the old man.

'So what can I do for you?' Yashiro asked, righting himself.

Misumi puffed and took a moment to consider Yashiro. His eyes travelled along the scar that cut across Yashiro's left eyebrow. He then experienced something that was almost entirely paternal. He realised Yashiro had grown up somewhere in the past decade without his having noticed.

He thought about a kid he'd once seen, smiling and whistling while lying naked in the snow.

'There's something I've been meaning to ask you. It's been a long time coming, really.'

Yashiro sat back with a grin. 'If you're about to propose, I'm flattered and everything but Doumeki might actually kill you.'

Misumi rubbed his forehead tiredly. 'I'm making you second in command.'

Yashiro's face froze in place for a moment. Doumeki turned in time to see his false grin fade, to be replaced by the real one. He liked to think he was the only one who knew the difference.

Back to a few weeks ago, when Kageyama was stitching up Yashiro's face:

He paused with the needle in mid-air, the string attached obscenely to Yashiro's eyebrow.

'He threw a man out of a twentieth-storey window?'

'Yep,' said Yashiro.

'Today?'

'Yep.'

Dumbfounded, Kageyama looked at Doumeki for the first time, whose blood-smeared fists said a great deal more than his expression.

'What'll the police say?'

'They're not huge fans of this guy anyway. We're making it look like a suicide. They'll turn the other way with a little incentive.'

Still mildly shocked, Kageyama turned back to Yashiro.

'You're nervous about touching my face now, right? You should be.'

Kageyama set his jaw and went back to stitching. 'You sound like a guy who's proud of his new rottweiler.'

'That's exactly what I am.' His eyes fell lazily on Doumeki. 'And by God, can my rottweiler fuck.'

A hint of red touched Doumeki's cheeks. Kageyama focused on the needle.

After he was done, Yashiro lightly got to his feet.

'Thanks Kage. I owe you one. Well, another one at least.'

'Actually,' said Kageyama, arms folded, suddenly awkward. 'I was hoping to talk to you alone for a minute.'

'Oh.' Yashiro raised his eyebrows. 'Sounds serious.'

He cast a quick glance at Doumeki, who hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaving.

When the door closed, Kageyama seemed even more flustered. Yashiro was annoyed to discover he wasn't particularly comfortable either.

'I…' Kageyama tried again. 'So everything you said... that day... was true?'

Yashiro's pulse quickened just a tad.

'What, from weeks ago? Takes things a while to catch up to you, doesn't it?'

Kuga helped, Kageyama thought. But I'm still struggling.

'Yeah,' said Yashiro, trying to keep his voice light. 'All true.'

Kageyama looked at him. The classrooms and hallways. The nurse's office. The rooftop fence. Years and years.

'But you never…'

'Said anything?' A slow smile that concealed many things. 'Would it have made a difference?'

Outside, beside the door he hadn't fully closed, Doumeki's heart raced. It felt like his head was filled with glue. He suddenly longed for Inami.

'That's not what… I mean, I don't...'

His discomfort made Yashiro feel a bit more at ease. He leaned against the wall, hand in his pocket.

'You know, I had a feeling it was possible to seduce you if I put my mind to it. Granted, it would have taken a little more than dropping to my knees and blowing you, even though that's all most people need.'

Doumeki clenched his jaw. That was all it took for him. In fact he didn't even need that; just laying eyes on Boss had been enough.

Kageyama looked like he was gravely regretting his decision. Yashiro was once again able to enjoy the deeply uncomfortable silence.

'But, in hindsight, it's for the best that I didn't. Don't you think?'

An impossible question to answer.

There's something in me, Kage. Something twisted and dark and earnest. You couldn't have handled it. I couldn't have you without your knowing it, so I couldn't have you.

Yashiro glanced at the door. Him on the other hand…

'It's because of the rottweiler outside that I even said anything at all,' Yashiro said at length. 'You can thank him for all this unnecessary awkwardness.'

Kageyama opened his mouth and hesitated. It took a few tries, but he finally voiced something that had been pestering him for a while in various forms.

'Why… why him?'

Yashiro was surprised.

'Aren't you just full of questions today?'

When Kageyama made no response, he leaned his head back against the wall and scratched his neck, putting on a thoughtful air.

'I think it's because of his smile.'

Kageyama blinked. 'Are you serious?'

'Christ, Kage. No, I'm not serious. Have you ever seen the guy smile once? I don't think he knows how. Not unlike someone else in this room.'

The doctor frowned as though to reinforce the point. Kuga had made similar remarks that grated on him.

'In reality, though,' Yashiro continued, with a perceptible change in tone. It sounded like he wanted to test something in the air. See how it sounded.

Picking up on it, Doumeki willed his pulse to soften so he could hear.

'At first I thought it was because of how he saw me,' he said. His gaze was fixed on the far corner, half-lidded and serene. 'But I think it's because of who he is. He's stronger than anyone else I've known. Strange, isn't it?'

Doumeki stared at the floor.

Kageyama then underwent a strange, specific shift in emotions. He'd felt a diffused version of it over the past few weeks as he tried to process everything, but hearing Yashiro's response brought it back in a pure, concentrated burst. Not jealousy, exactly. Possessiveness. The feeling that he'd been there first.

It wasn't a particularly powerful emotion but it made him uncomfortable enough to say, entirely without provocation, 'I love Kuga.'

A wide, easy smile.

'I know. I knew you would. Not to flatter myself, but he's just me without the tragic past. Anyone can see that.'

Kageyama decided to let that one pass by him for now. He had enough to think about as it was.

'About everything else, I… I just needed to know, that's all.'

'I get it.'

They looked at one another for just long enough. Then Yashiro took a noisy inhale and pushed off the wall.

'Any other questions, doc?'

'No. Just try to keep that guy from throwing people out of buildings.'

'Can't promise anything.'

Hearing his footsteps, Doumeki stepped away from the door. In the hallway, Yashiro glanced at him once, eyes giving nothing away.

'Let's go.'

Doumeki caught Kageyama's eye as he passed the office. For some reason, it was in that brief moment that Kageyama thought he finally saw some kind of likeness between them.

After they left Kageyama's, Doumeki drove Yashiro home and drew him a bath. Meanwhile, Yashiro peered into the foggy mirror above the sink and felt the nine stitches along his browline with admiration.

'Do you think it'll leave a scar?'

'Maybe,' Doumeki answered, hand in the water.

'It'll be nice to have that in common too, don't you think? A facial scar as well as bullet wounds.'

Doumeki didn't answer, but the thought was most definitely nice.

When he was in the bath, Yashiro did a quick count.

'So of all the guys you've seen fucking me,' he said. 'I think you've killed or maimed them all. Except that random first detective, but I can't even remember his name. Maybe we'll run into him one day. And Ryuuzaki of course. Maybe leave that guy alone, though. I've always liked him.'

Sitting on the tub's rim with his legs in the water, Doumeki squeezed out the sponge. He mentally ran through Times 1-5. Boss was right.

Boss was humming again. He barely noticed he was doing it, or that he was doing it quite soulfully with effortless changes in pitch. Smooth, purring vibratos. It was the same dry, sad tune he'd hummed that day in the kitchen. Doumeki still couldn't remember the name of the song but he listened. He felt something new.

'That book you read in the hospital,' Yashiro said suddenly as Doumeki began massaging his neck and shoulders with the sponge. 'Did you say you finished it?'

'Yes.'

'What did you think of the ending? Sad shit, huh?'

Doumeki was confused. 'Sad?'

Yashiro raised his head.

'What else would you call it when you're forced to shoot your own huge dimwit of a friend in the back of the head just to save him from the world?'

Water ran in beautiful, braid-like rivulets down Yashiro's back. Doumeki watched them and wondered if there was a way he could get Yashiro to start humming again. He tried to switch his focus to Of Mice and Men.

'He would've been happy,' he said, thinking about Lennie. 'If he knew.'

'Knew what?'

'That George was the one who killed him.'

Water dripped in the silence.

His tone was flat, Yashiro thought. Entirely unselfconscious. He ran the tips of his fingers along Doumeki's huge foot on the bottom of the tub.

'A little lower,' he said.

Doumeki felt the fingertips brushing his ankle. He wondered if he'd earned the right to let go of the sponge. Press his lips to the back of Boss' neck, move his hands over the muscles of Boss' back, loop one around, slowly grip Boss' cock like it was his own. He would slide into the tub behind him, drenching his clothes, water splashing noisily on the floor and Boss might rest his head back against his shoulder. Eyes open or closed?

Instead, he gently moved the sponge down Boss' back.

He thought about what he'd overheard that day at Kageyama's.

It's because of who he is. He's stronger than anyone else I've known. Strange, isn't it?

The sponge paused.

He had never felt strong. Not once. Least of all around Boss. He felt like he was always on the point of breaking. Out of anxiety, out of insecurity, out of inadequacy.

In front of him, Yashiro's hair was dark and slicked back from the water. He turned his head slightly, wondering why Doumeki had stopped.

But if strong was what Boss saw in him – if strong was what Boss needed him to be – then that's what he would be.