Daisenpai

by Starcross

Summary:

“You’ve never kissed a girl, have you, Ichi?”

Ichi’s stare goes from him to Akiko on his lap, and back, and again, but it’s Jo he looks at when he shakes his head. Good.

"Why don't you have a go?" Jo suggests airily, running his fingers through Akiko’s hair. She’s sweating bullets, poor thing. He doesn't miss the way her cheeks flush, though.

He’s doing him a favor, Jo decides. In the good spirit of Christmas. And if making Ichi suffer happens to be one of his favorite hobbies, well, it’s only incidental.

Sex has always been a game to Sawashiro Jo. There’s not much more to it than that. He has never been one to find meaningful connection in the throes of passion. 

He will admit, though, that it is fun. Not the physical aspect of it. Even the best blowjob is easily replaced by some quiet time with a handful of warming lube, an AV tape featuring the last girl Shiraga poached from the street, and two well-placed fingers. 

No, what Jo enjoys is the psychology of it. Figuring out as a teen that he was immune to the power sex held on his peers was a disappointment, at first. Kamurocho might as well be the capital of lechery, with its neon lights blaring over the skin of underdressed girls, lascivious smiles on billboards, and dark alleyways where tourists and salarymen come to sate their hunger. 

Fishnetted legs at every corner, tits in maid outfits behind the café counters. Lust in every eye, and the smell and sound of sex as a constant bassline in the city’s song. 

Jo expected it to hit him, at some point. For some reason, it never did. Puberty was a bundle of bone pain, jacking off and permanent rage, but Mother Nature had forgotten to include interest for other people in the package. He liked looking at a nice pair of tits as much as the next teenager, for sure. But watching men throw away their life savings for an ass swaying in leopard print always felt utterly bonkers. 

It felt like being the only sober man at a party, sometimes. 

He started to understand it with Ikumi. Not the love, not the attraction - even if he liked her presence, because misery likes company. She was attractive by common beauty standards, and she made heads turn when they walked together in the street, which was always flattering. She never had any hold on him, though. Not the way he had a hold on her. 

That was the revelation: the things she let him do to her, back then. The things she begged him to do, after some time. He dipped a toe in about every water, not even out of genuine interest. Just to see what he could get away with. 

The answer, he found out, was: a lot. 

Of course, the baby incident changed things between them. She didn’t let him touch her anymore, which was an endless well of frustration. Not because of a physical need, and only a little because of the loss of intimacy. The loss of power was what bugged him, and when she decided to return to the countryside, Jo gritted his teeth and tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt. 

That was what sex was, he decided then with disdain curling in his stomach. A form of power, nothing more. 

Jo is older now, and wise enough to add “and nothing less” to his teenage conclusions. 

He is grateful, actually, to feel impassive to women's flirting and to the promises of vice. It keeps him on his toes; allows him to stay on top. Sex sells, which is good for the finances of the family. Sex compels, which is good for obtaining blackmail material. And sex ensnares, which is good for his ego, because Jo is good at it. 

Very good, in fact. 

The music in the bar is some comfortable jazz - not the kind that the place usually blasts, but the kind he likes. The bartender wasn’t very difficult to convince. People are never very difficult to convince, Jo finds. A long stare usually gets him what he wants with civilians. Fear is power, too. 

The rest of the Arakawa family is scattered around the place, playing darts and lounging, toasting to good health and good luck and to yet another good year. Arakawa-san has left already. Christmastime is made for family, and the ball on the roulette of Masato’s wishes has finally landed in the patriarch’s favor. The young master wants to spend the evening with his dad, after all. Nothing to do, of course, with the fact that this happens to be the night Arakawa-san planned a gathering for his men. 

They’re both used to the young master’s whims and tests. Jo only nodded when Arakawa-san apologized and headed out after a single drink. Masato has been difficult since he hit adulthood, insisting that he will soon cut all ties with the yakuza. The times when he still calls out for his father, Jo knows, are all the more precious to Arakawa-san. 

“I missed too many moments,” the patriarch mournfully said earlier, over a glass of whisky. “Too many evenings when I came late from work. Weekends where I had to change plans. He’s punishing me now.”

“Yes,” Jo replied, because it’s true. Arakawa laughed, patted him on the shoulder fondly, and thanked him for his candor. It’s raining outside, now. Jo hopes his patriarch has an umbrella. 

There’s loud laughter behind him, high-pitched and feminine. A group of girls is giggling at whatever Shiraga just said. As far as Jo can tell, they aren’t hostesses, or plants paid by the bar to incite the men to buy more drinks. They’re not pretty enough for that. Only one of them is, a tall and lean thing in a bodycon dress and flashy red lipstick. Too tall to have been allowed to be an idol, if Joe has to venture a guess. She could be a model. She could be a whore, too. Given the glint in Shiraga’s eyes, she may very well receive that business proposition by the end of the night. 

She won’t take it, Jo decides idly. Too sure of her own beauty, and her own hold over men. She’ll hook up with anyone rich enough to throw diamonds her way, but will never call it what it is. The other girls are arranged around her like a chorus. There’s a form of duty there, Jo recognizes. They know who’s the leader of the pack. 

Jo can hear a bit of Kansai-ben in their voices. Tourists, then. College girls on break who decided to visit the capital and be naughty, hanging out in the red district where they’re sure to run into something dangerous and exciting. Stumbling upon a yakuza gathering is going to be the story they keep telling ten years from now. 

He swirls the icecube in his glass, and makes his pick. 

Certainly not the one attracting the spotlight. He never had patience for women who think they have power over him, and he despises the taste of lipstick. He also discounts the blonde-dyed one blinking at Shiraga, and the one with fishnet tights under her skirt - too eager, too suave, not his type. 

There’s a chubby one at the back of the group, who politely laughs behind her hand. She tries to say something that nobody hears, drowned under the leader’s voice, and she looks down in silence. Her nails tug at the hem of her skirt. It’s a bit too short, clearly not what she usually wears. 

Jo smiles, just for himself. He keeps his eyes on her until she can feel it. She looks up, eventually, glancing around the bar and meeting his gaze. He holds it, as she blinks nervously. Ten seconds of staring, Jo has found, is a great way to make people squirm. 

When she crosses her legs with an unnerved look, glancing down and up again, he lifts his glass and beckons her over with a tilt of the head. 

He doesn’t look away until she does. Her hands are a little shaky, and there is a jittery smile on her round face. She’s afraid, Jo can tell. She’s the smart one of the bunch, probably did Queen Bee’s homework when they were kids and stuck around because it’s safer to hang out with the popular ones. 

She knows yakuza are dangerous and she’s on her guard. Surely she tried to speak against that little outing, only to be silenced by the group. Jo’s fingers are tingling with heat. 

“Good evening,” she says as she approaches, clutching her arms around her chest. It pushes her tits up, which she probably doesn’t realize. She’d be mortified if she did. Her little bow is just the right angle, polite and deferent. 

Jo says nothing, simply nods at the stool besides his and lifts his hand for the bartender. She takes her time with the drink menu, and orders a bottled beer. She watches keenly as it’s opened, and holds it against her protectively when it is. That one heard about roofie precautions, Jo muses. Smart girl. 

He clinks his own glass against her bottle in silence, and keeps sipping. Silence is a good tool for power as well, he’s learnt. After a minute, the girl coughs, squirming on her stool. 

“I hope we’re not intruding,” she blurts out. “The bartender didn’t tell us there would be a private party.”

“It’s not private,” Jo replies. She looks at him expectantly. She wants to be reassured, to be told that their little girl group is a welcome addition, in fact. Any other man would tell her that. Jo keeps quiet, and keeps watching her. She has short hair that hides her forehead behind thick bangs. She’s got earrings on, gaudy rings that someone must have lent her for the evening. His eyes run down the shape of her neck, her breasts, the plump landscape of her crossed legs. She’s wearing very sensible tights for the season. Her hands fold in her lap with a flustered tremor. There’s a flush on her face when he looks back up. 

“My name’s Akiko.” She’s fidgeting with the hem of her skirt again. Short, too short, what was I thinking, he can see the thoughts over her head like a cartoon bubble. Jo can’t wait to take her tights off and make her whimper. 

“Good name,” he states. Bright child, it means. She deserves it, for sure. Her cheeks redden to a full blush. What a surprise; the bright child likes praise. And she’s not used to this. Nobody picks her first, not when there’s so many louder, gaudier, sexier choices around. She’s never been the attractive one and she’s resigned to that fact. Her shoulders are tense, and Jo swears he can smell the fear in her sweat. 

But she’s intrigued. Flustered. Flattered. This never happens to her, and certainly not from someone as handsome as he is. She looks up with apprehension, and Jo knows that he’s won. There’s fear and thrill in equal measure in those big eyes. She won’t run, not when this is the most exciting her life has ever gotten. 

“And what’s your name?” she asks, nails peeling the label of her beer bottle. Her voice falters a little. Jo smiles, finally. He leans towards her, and lets his hand fall on her knee. 

“None of your business,” he whispers in her ear. His nails graze against her tights, over the kneecap and up, just a little, to the inside of her thigh. Her breath catches, and her pupils are wide when he grasps her by the chin. 

She opens her mouth easily when he slides his tongue between her lips. Her fingers come clutching at his jacket. He’ll allow it for the moment ; his hands are busy, one holding her jaw in place with his thumb against her racing pulse, the other lazily running up her thigh.   

“Holy shit,” Jo hears behind him, and it almost throws him off. Ichi’s voice has a way to grate his nerves like nothing else. It’s unfair, he knows it is, after everything he’s taken from the boy. He can’t help it. Hearing Ichi always awakens the part of him that likes to hurt. 

He bites Akiko’s lip a little harsher than necessary. She whines in his mouth, but she doesn’t pull away. Jo is very, very happy with his pick. 

When he finally lets go, he can see her chest heaving with fluttering breaths. She looks dazed, and the way she’s pressing her legs together tells him all he needs to know. He smiles again, knocks back the rest of his drink, and gets to his feet. 

Akiko looks at him go with a mix of relief and disappointment. She will look wonderful writhing on his lap later, Jo can already tell. She’s going to be watching him all evening, wondering if there’s more where that came from, weighing her common sense against the fire between her legs. And then she’s going to come and seek him out, pride set aside. Good girl, begging for the approval she craves. 

Jo is going to indulge her, of course. He’s nice like that. 

In the meantime, he’ll let her simmer for a bit, return to her gaggle of fake friends and feel the glow of attention. Their little PDA has been noticed by both their crews, and it’s going to be a  big rock thrown into the cogs of her group dynamics. The pack leader is quick to coo and giggle all over Akiko - sharing the spotlight, immediately, because God forbid the shy fat girl overshine her for even a minute. 

Shiraga shoots Jo the conniving grin of a fellow pervert. The lieutenant knows how to read people almost as well as he does - comes with the job, really. Shiraga wouldn’t be half the pimp he is if he didn’t see through the masks of glitter and charm. 

Jo goes to have a look at the dartboard, where a couple of men are displaying abysmal levels of incompetence. Maybe he’s gonna add that to the mandatory family training, if only to salvage the Arakawa reputation. He feels a presence trot after him, a few steps behind. 

“How did you do that?” Ichi asks with awe when he turns. The boy’s eyebrows are up, and his eyes are glimmering with adoration. Jo frowns. 

“Do what?”

“You kissed a girl in like, thirty seconds!” Ichi exclaims, with the good grace of lowering his voice a little. The enthusiasm on his stupid face is still vibrant. For some reason, it irks Jo to no end. 

“And?” he derides. “How long does it usually take you, Ichi?”

Ichi stammers and laughs, running a hand through his fresh punch perm. He mutters something unintelligible. It doesn’t matter. Jo can see virgin written in bright kanji all over him. He’s turning twenty in a couple of weeks, his passage to majority right around the bend, but he still feels like an annoying teenager. Jo suspects he’ll always feel like one. It’s a matter of personality, not age. 

“I’m not…” Ichi blurts out. “I’m not very good with girls. That’s sorta why I’m asking.” He’s shuffling his big feet now, running the heel of his shoes against the floorboards. They don’t match his belt. It drives Jo insane. 

“Asking,” he repeats, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “What exactly are you asking me, Ichi?”

“Uh, advice, I guess?” Ichi scratches his neck. “Trade secrets?” There’s a disarming smile on his face, like he can endear Jo if he tries hard enough. It doesn’t work. Jo scoffs. 

“Since when do you give a shit about my advice?”

There’s maybe more venom in his voice than warranted, but it’s not unfounded. God knows the kid (almost twenty now, Jo should stop calling him that in his head, but really he is) always seems to have wind between his ears. Nothing stays in there. Ichi blinks in surprise, and looks a little hurt. 

“I give a shit,” he protests. “It’s just that I don’t always understand.”

“What is hard to understand about match your shoes with your belt?” Jo snaps back, which is admittedly not a very good retort, but it’s what is under his nose at the moment. Ichi chuckles, taken aback, and looks down to his shoes. 

“They’re both brown,” he points out. 

“They’re not the same brown,” Jo argues. 

“You never said it had to be the exact same tone!”

“Well, I’m saying it now!” 

Ichi laughs again, like it’s an excellent joke. Jo thinks of driving his head into the wall. 

“It’s true,” the tall girl says, sidling up to them like she was invited. “Elegance is always in the details.” 

Jo thinks of driving her head into the wall. Her outfit is impeccable and she knows it, but it’s no reason to intrude on a conversation. He shoots her a look, and she turns away with a knowing grin. Right. That’s in the order of things. She’s gonna try and hit on him to reassess her authority in her flock. Jo is not keen on playing that game. Sure, her red-painted lips would look nice around his cock, and he’s pretty confident he could make her choke and cry. But he will enjoy even more watching her dominance crumble as he slips his hand under Akiko’s too-short skirt and drags her to the back alley. Pleasure is all in playing the field, really. 

Ichi watches her leave with a pensive stare focused on the slope of her ass. Jo snorts despite himself. 

“Some girls are built better for making an exit than an entrance,” he says. Ichi bites his lip and snickers. The tips of his ears are going red. 

“For real, though,” he insists, looking Jo in the eye with his usual audacity. “What did you tell the girl when you were at the bar?”

Jo sighs deeply, and caves in. It’s Christmas. He supposes he can indulge Ichi, just this once. It’s not everyday that the boy seeks him out, either. And maybe, maybe it feels just a little bit good to be gaped at with the intensity of these eyes. Ichi can’t lie to save his life.  He wears all his emotions on his face, all the time. It’s not so displeasing for once. Jo enjoys feeling admired almost as much as he enjoys feeling feared.

“Nothing,” he replies. “What are you telling girls?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Depends? I - I try to figure out if we’ve got like, shit in common, or I’ll give them a compliment or something?”

Eager, eager, eager. Jo can see the excitement shining in Ichi’s big brown eyes. The stupid kid cares so much. Too much for his own good. He can’t bring himself to say that. 

“Alright,” he states instead, settling into an armchair and crossing his fingers in front of him. “Show me.”

Ichi startles, and looks at him weird for a second. 

“Show you…?”

“Show me how you talk to girls.”

Ichi is fidgeting with his sleeves now, and there’s an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

“You mean, like… Try to chat you up?”

Jo blinks, and stares at him for ten very long seconds. Ichi holds his gaze. He always does. That drives Jo insane, too. 

“I mean,” he finally says with what feels like a year’s worth of patience because he can’t handle the awkwardness anymore, “pick a girl and go talk to her. I’ll watch.”

“Oooh,” Ichi breathes out with what looks like relief. “Yeah, okay! That makes more sense!”

He chuckles, then glances around. For a second, Jo thinks he’s going for the tall model, in which case he’d forget about giving any advice, and sit back to enjoy the car crash. But maybe Ichi has a bit of common sense after all, because he heads for another one. Blonde-dyed hair, with too much make-up and a vapid look on her face. Maybe she reminds him of Shangri-La. Jo watches as Ichi desperately tries to fan a conversation. It’s abundantly clear that the girl is not interested, and that her smiles and “uh-hu” are as fake as it gets. Jo feels a glass being slipped into his hand. 

“To ladies,” Shiraga says, lifting his own whiskey. “Without whom life wouldn’t be half as fun.”

“Without whom you’d be out of a job,” points out Jo. 

“Hey, I’ve got my boys too. Some people pay big money to watch hunks rub all over each other, I’ll have you know.”

“You doing faggot shit now, Shiraga?” Jo asks without animosity. Ichi’s pick of the evening is looking at her nails while the kid tells her the plot of an anime with growing passion. Jo wishes he had popcorn.

“Nah. I’m saving that as a last resort if we ever need to make quick funds,” Shiraga yawns. “Are you teaching Ichi how to rizz up girls?”

“Trying. You know I like to take on a doomed project, every now and then.”

Shiraga laughs and downs his drink. Jo can see Akiko in the corner of his eye, watching him in quick glances. Good. He can’t have her move on too quickly. He looks at her and gives the barest hint of a smirk. Ichi eventually gives up on the hollow shell of the conversation, and saunters back to Jo with a brave soldier’s smile. 

“How did it go?” Jo asks in a toneless voice. 

“Uh, good, I think?”

“You think?”

Ichi deflates, and sits down on the next chair. 

“Nah, I don’t. I tried to figure out what she liked, and- I guess it was a little fun, she made a joke at some point but…” His voice dies down as he glances up at Jo. 

“That bad?” he winces in a small voice. Jo nods. 

“Yeah. Awful. I could tell even from here.”

“Aw, man.” Ichi looks more dejected by his judgment than by the conversation in itself. Jo appreciates that. His opinion should be the only one that matters. 

“Why do you care?” he asks, sipping on the whisky Shiraga just handed him. Ballantine’s, 25 years old. Not the 30, which is too smoky for his taste. His lieutenant knows him by heart. Jo will think of giving him a raise for New Year. 

“Huh?” Ichi lifts his eyes to meet his. “Cause… I did badly?”

“So the fuck what?”

Ichi blinks slowly, like a cat. He frowns and doesn’t reply. Jo can see he’s lost him there. Patiently, he asks:

“Why do you care about how a conversation went with a stranger you’ll never see again?”

“Well, maybe I wanted to see her again?” There’s a little tint of hope in the kid’s eyes, under the humor. Jo doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he will never be loved like he wants, that the dream of endless romance he can see shining in his eyes is not meant for the likes of them. That likelier than not, he'll end up in an unsatisfying business arrangement of a marriage, or a long string of shallow hookups, provided it doesn’t play out in blood. 

He is getting soft. Must be the Christmas spirit, Jo muses as he takes another sip of his whisky. 

“You can’t decide that after a minute of chatting,” he says instead. “I ask again, Ichi. Why do you care?”

Ichi opens and closes his mouth in silence, and scratches his head. 

“Cause… I wanna do good?” he tentatively replies. “I want it to work? To bond? But I don’t know, I guess I’m a bit intimidated around girls and it’s like suddenly I don’t know how to be normal anymore.”

Jo bites back the obvious retort, because there’s a bigger problem here. 

“Intimidated,” he repeats icily. “Ichi, the only person in this room who should intimidate you is me.”

“I know,” Ichi sighs, and adds precipitately: “You do! It’s just… Man, I don’t know. You make it look so easy.”

“It is easy. It’s nothing special. So don’t treat it like it is.”

Ichi looks at him like Jo holds the secrets of the universe. Slowly, the kid nods. 

“Right,” he mutters. “Right, because girls are people too and they’re not so different from guys deep down, and so I should be talking to them the same way…”

It’s absolutely not Jo’s point, but he’s curious to see where that snowball is going. 

“...and so I’m making them a disservice by letting myself be intimidated, cause really it means I’m putting them on a pedestal instead of starting on equal footing, and that’s no good for conversation…”

God, it’s getting worse by the second. Jo listens, fascinated. 

“...and whether or not it works out, I got to meet someone new and that’s always cool, so I’d show more respect by being more casual, actually?” Ichi finishes with a hopeful look, like he’s waiting for Jo to give him a good grade. Jo is tempted to lift a 10/10 panel, if only for the mental acrobatics it took to get him there. 

There’s just nothing to care about, he wants to say. But, oh well. If Ichi can stop looking like a hungry puppy every time he spots a pair of tits, he supposes it’s already a win. Magnanimous, Jo inclines his head. 

“Wow,” Ichi breathes out, eyes wide. “That’s so cool. That’s why you’re so smooth, then!”

Jo almost wants to tell him that no, it’s because he genuinely doesn’t give a fuck about the women he shags. He feels like it would undermine his point, somehow. 

“Something like that,” he deflects. “I also look better than you.”

“And your shoes match your belt,” Ichi says with a little melancholy. Jo can’t help laughing. 

“Try again,” he suggests. Akiko is skulking at the periphery of his field of vision. There’s some good target practice for Ichi. That ought to keep her busy. He doesn’t need her shadowing him all night, thank you very much. 

Turning his head, Jo points at Akiko with his chin. “Why not with her?”

Ichi looks like he’s going to choke. His eyes are bulging when he stammers: 

“The woman you were kissing?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

There are few things Jo likes more in the world than making Ichi squirm. A drop of sweat runs down the kid’s forehead. He swipes it with his sleeve, looking every bit like a deer in headlights, until something clicks on his face and he makes a little “O” with his mouth. 

“Right!” he gasps. “Cause since she’s already seduced by you, I know I’ve got no chance!”

Here he goes again with the mind gymnastics. Jo gives a non-committal sound, and watches the somersaults. 

“And so… So, I won’t have to worry about results and I can just enjoy the process! I can’t be intimidated when I know I’m not expecting anything!”

Sure, Jo thinks. Why not. Ichi’s eyes are dazzling with glee. 

“You’re so smart, captain!”

“You’re realizing it now?” Jo snaps. Ichi fumbles an apology, which he waves off with a lazy hand. It’s crazy how jarring his presence can feel after a short moment. Jo swears he’s got an internal timer of Ichi-tolerance, after which he starts taking psychological damage every time the little shit opens his mouth. Best go back to ignoring him before he finds an excuse to push him through a window. Arakawa-san disapproves of his pettiness, he knows. 

Besides, it’s Christmas. Not getting grievously injured by his captain will be Ichi’s present, Jo decides. 

He pushes Ichi towards Akiko, none too gently, and goes on his way. Jo mixes with the rest of the men, keeping an ear out for conversations that steer too far from what civilians are allowed to hear. Mitsuo is blushing and giggling at the tall girl’s jokes, so he grabs him by the elbow and takes a stern minute to remind him that civilians ought to stay scared of family men. The boy’s eyes are misty when he’s done, and his mohawk bobs as Mitsuo quickly nods, stuttering an apology with his gaze on the ground. 

Shiraga is sliding a business card in the pocket of the blonde-dyed girl. Jo expects he’ll see her soon on his weekly AV tapes. In the corner, Ichi and Akiko are still chatting. He’s making expansive gestures, and she’s laughing behind her hand. She looks relaxed, and whatever they’re discussing, the conversation is easily flowing. A twinge of worry tugs at Jo’s chest. That won’t do. He needs her tense and on the edge, half-ashamed and half-terrified. She’s supposed to be reluctantly succumbing to her desire, not lounging around like she belongs with them. 

Ichi says something, and she giggles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Jo may have fucked up. 

He steps closer to them, just as the men playing pool finish their game. Ichi jumps to his feet, and drags Akiko by the wrist with an enthusiasm that Jo is getting to punch him for, at some point. 

“Oh, hi captain!” Ichi babbles with a big stupid grin, like he’s genuinely happy to see him. “We’re gonna play pool, right, Akiko-san? Do you want to play too?”

Jo shakes his head, giving the girl a long glance. Her cheeks redden again, and she rubs a hand on her nape with a timid smile. Good. She knows where she’s ending the evening, then. Jo can allow her to have some fun in between. He’s a generous man. 

“I’d crush you,” he simply tells Ichi when the kid insists that they can play a three-people game, no problem. 

“Oh, you’re good?” Ichi asks with big eyes. Jo wants to slap him so bad. He doesn’t dignify that with an answer, just narrows his eyes. Arakawa-san has gone home. Maybe he can allow himself one little kick to Ichi’s groin, on the way out? In a back alley where nobody would see?

It’s Christmas, after all. Jo deserves to indulge too. 

“I’m not very good at billiards,” Akiko states humbly. 

“Me neither! We can be bad together!” Ichi nudges her with his elbow, and racks up the balls. 

Jo leans against the wall, and watches. Ichi is many things, but not a liar. He is very bad indeed. For some reason, he keeps trying to put a spin on the white ball, hitting the green baize with his cue instead. The noise it makes is making Jo’s teeth ache. Ichi looks up at him with a dismayed face. At least, he’s aware of how terrible a show he’s putting on. 

Ichi finally hits the ball, too low. It bounces on the baize and off the table, missing Jo’s foot by an inch. Ichi looks horrified as he picks it up and steps closer. That’s it, decides Jo. He’s had enough. 

“Why on earth do you keep trying to hit it on the bottom?” he hisses, putting the ball down on the table with more brutality than necessary. Ichi stammers. 

“I’m not… I don’t know? Aren’t you supposed to hit it like, on the side where it’s gonna go?”

“Do you really think you’ve got the level for trick shots, Ichi?” Jo huffs through his nose, and steps behind him. 

“Aim for the center. And hold your cue properly. What the hell is this form?”

“I’ve seen it in movies!” Ichi protests, trying to balance the cue between his knuckles. Jo holds his hand down, and forces it flat. Ichi’s pinkie clenches on the baize. God, but that little piece of flesh is tempting. Maybe one day, Jo dreamily thinks. One day. 

He shapes that tantalizing hand into a correct position, slides the cue into place, and pushes him down so Ichi’s face is at eye level with the balls. 

“Now aim. Properly, or I swear to god I’m gonna shove that cue somewhere inconvenient.” 

Akiko giggles. Ichi doesn’t. 

The cue hits the white ball perfectly, and it hits in turn the red one with a lovely tac sound. The three of them watch with bated breath as it lazily rolls to the hole, hesitates, and finally plunges down. Akiko cheers, Ichi sighs in relief, and Jo claps him on the back, a little too hard. 

“Do you have any advice for me, sir?” Akiko asks, meeting his eyes. She’s getting a bit too comfortable for Jo’s taste, but fine. He likes that game too. He wins either way, and he doesn’t hate the deference on her tongue when she calls him sir. So he gives her a smile, and tilts his head. 

“Sure. Here’s a piece of advice. Why don’t you actually try winning?”

Akiko’s lips fall open. They’re as plump and lovely as the rest of her. Jo idly wonders what they’re going to feel like around his fingers. 

“Okay,” she suddenly whispers, turning her attention to the billiard table with an intensity not far from matching Ichi’s. Jo smirks. The game finally becomes interesting. Akiko is not as bad as she seemed - whether she was nervous or hiding her skills out of fear, Jo can’t quite tell. Ichi, regrettably, is a fast learner when he wants, and so Jo finds no more reason to bully him throughout the game. Spoilsport. 

Ichi wins, but just barely. Akiko isn’t a sore loser, and she claps when he finally manages to bounce the black ball into a hole. 

“Aww, you almost had it, Kiko-chan!” coos the tall girl behind them. “Better luck next time!”

She sways her hips as she comes leaning on the wall next to Jo, and flashes him a smile. 

“So. Our turn, right? If I win, you owe me a drink!” she offers, tilting her head so her beautiful hair tumbles down her shoulder. Jo stares at her for a few seconds. He can see Akiko fold into herself behind the pool table. She’s helping rack the balls up, eyes firmly avoiding Jo’s direction. 

Jo looks the tall girl up, and down, and up again. 

“What’s your name?” he asks, almost pleasantly. 

“Marina,” she replies with a coy expression. It’s not her real name, Jo can tell. Too foreign for a Kansai born-and-raised chick like that. Must be an artist pseudonym or something. Her girl court probably calls her that. 

“I’m not calling you that,” Jo says. She blinks. Akiko chokes on something that could be laughter, while he leans closer. 

“Why don’t you fuck off before your career takes an unexpected turn, you stupid girl?” he advises in his lowest voice. The wannabe seductress blanches a bit. For half a second, she looks offended, then maybe the light catches on the pin on Jo’s lapel, or she notices Shiraga’s arm slung over the shoulders of her friend, and something aligns inside her head. Teeth gritted, she bows her head before melting into the crowd. 

Jo is satisfied. It’s not like the Arakawa family to kidnap girls into prostitution rings or porn studios - Shiraga is a good enough salesman to entice recruits without having to shove them in the back of a van. He even throws birthday parties for his girls on family funds, to Jo’s dismay, and calls it talent retention expenditures. Still. “Marina” doesn’t need to know that. It’s good for civilians to stay scared of family men. 

“Drinks? Akiko-san, drinks? Captain?” God, but Ichi’s voice is going to be the thing that makes him snap, one day. Still, he could use a refill. He nods, and follows Ichi to the bar. Akiko excuses herself for a minute, heading to the bathroom while Ichi is hemming and hawing over the drinks menu. He keeps taking glances at Jo’s glass. 

“What do you drink, captain?”

“Whisky. You don’t like that,” says Jo, because it’s true. He’s seen Ichi’s face scrunch when Arakawa served them an extraordinary Bowmore to celebrate the family’s anniversary. Whisky is wasted on Ichi, and Jo doesn’t like wasting. 

“Maybe I do now,” Ichi defends himself. It’s a cool drink, Jo can read on his face. And Ichi wants to be cool so, so bad. 

“Tell me, Ichi,” he asks almost kindly. “What do you think is more pathetic? Ordering something you don’t like in order to impress me, or manning up and getting whatever it is that you really want?”

Ichi chews on his bottom lip, like it’s a difficult question. He scratches his head. 

“What if I want a cocktail or something?” he laughs, like he’s joking. Jo only lifts an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t it kind of, you know... A girl’s drink?” Ichi insists with an expression that is probably supposed to be contempt. Jo makes a mental note never to send him undercover, unless it’s to play strip-poker and he’s in need of a naked diversion. Ichi is so bad at hiding his feelings, it’s almost comical. 

“Why would it be for girls?” Jo replies evenly. “Does it have dick in it?”

Startled, Ichi chuckles. After an interminable debate with himself, he orders a Grasshopper. Even Jo has to acknowledge that it looks good. It’s thick, though. The kid has mint cream all over his mouth when he waves Akiko over. 

“Lick your lips,” Jo orders. Ichi obeys, thank goodness. 

“Should we order something for her?” he suggests.

“No,” Jo firmly replies. “You never give a girl a drink she hasn’t seen the bartender make.”

Ichi looks perplexed, but Jo is not going to explain himself when Akiko is sliding on the stool at his side. She does the same song and dance as Ichi around the drink menu. 

“You should pick what you like,” Ichi says proudly, swirling his cocktail around. “Not what you think will impress people. And you can even watch the bartender make it!” 

It takes everything in Jo not to drown him in his mint cream. Akiko smiles, though. 

“Yeah?” She bites her lip too, not unlike Ichi. Then she snorts, and pushes the menu down. 

“Fuck it. Can I have a Ballantine’s, then? 15 years. No ice.”

Ichi gawks, while Jo turns an interested look towards her. Akiko’s cheeks are a little flushed, but she’s smiling. Confidence gives her a glow. He won’t mind it too much if she looks like that when she’s riding him, an hour from now. 

He should probably get that show on the road, in fact. It’s getting late, and he likes having his seven hours of sleep before getting on with his duties. Christmas or not, he’s got work tomorrow. So Jo gets up from the bar, shoos off a couple of men from a table in a corner, and waves Akiko over. Ichi follows suit; he and the girl are still discussing a movie Jo has only vaguely heard about. 

Ichi, with his usual social blindness, sits with them at the table. Akiko is sandwiched between him and Jo. Her plump knee is warm against his leg, and Jo lands a proprietary hand on it, dragging the back of his fingers to her thigh. Ichi keeps rambling about the Galaxy Super-Express and how he too would have gone to the Western Planet if he had a chance. Akiko looks, understandably, a little unfocused on the conversation. 

Jo considers telling Ichi to fuck off, or waiting until he realizes it’s time for him to leave. Neither is a very satisfying display of authority. 

“Finish your drink,” he tells Akiko, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She only gives him a glance before swallowing down the rest of her whisky. Good girl, thinks Jo. He’ll reward her later. 

“So if you could go to another planet, which one would you- woah!”

Ichi’s voice turns to a squeak when Jo leans in, hand grasping the back of Akiko’s hair, and kisses her. Her tongue tastes like Ballantine’s, and he congratulates himself again on his choice. He takes his time savouring her mouth, sneaking a hand under her skirt until he can feel her warmth on his fingertips. She whines into his mouth, and Ichi makes a weird noise. 

Jo glances up from the kiss. Ichi is staring at him with wide eyes, pupils blown open and neck flushed. He’s tightly cradling his cocktail with both hands. He looks frozen in place, and in no rush at all to leave the table. 

Fingers fisted in Akiko’s hair, Jo forces her head to the side and nibbles on her earshell. The gaudy earring tastes of iron between his teeth. Akiko squirms in his embrace, and her breath is shallow and quick. She’s grasping at his wrist, but she doesn’t try pulling him away, even when Jo slides his hand further between her legs. Her tights are damp. 

Ichi is still watching, transfixed. Jo meets his eyes. The kid doesn’t look away, not even when he runs his tongue on the side of Akiko’s neck, tasting the beat of her rabbit-fast pulse. 

There’s social blindness, and then there’s this. Jo isn’t sure if he’s pissed or amused. Making eye-contact with Ichi while he’s fondling some girl in a bar is more absurd than half the shit the little scamp has put him through. It’s getting awkward, but Ichi never knew when to lower his eyes, and Jo sure as hell is not going to do it first. It takes him biting on Akiko’s nape to make her stammer something about being in public, and Ichi’s stare finally leaves Jo to return to her. 

“So?” Jo says, kissing her gently below the ear. The mortification on her face is delightful. Her eyes are half-closed, but she’s gawking back at Ichi under her heavy lids. Jo can feel her legs tremble around his hand. Ichi swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He’s got mint cream on his lip, and he hasn’t blinked in a good half-minute. 

Well. That is a surprise, Jo muses. Not how he had planned the evening to go, and part of him can’t help but take it as a challenge. Akiko is clearly into this - which he can understand. She’s not used to being seen, let alone watched. Jo would bet good money that she’s been craving that attention for years in the secret of her bed. 

Ichi staring in silence is more of a novelty. It’s not often that he shuts up, which is almost enough for Jo to keep going. But he’s not blind, and he can feel the eyes of the rest of the family. Captain Sawashiro getting under-the-table action with a girl is not going to warrant comments, not even behind his back. His men know better. A junior gawking at his captain with an obvious hard-on, though? Ichi is never going to hear the end of it.

He’s doing him a favor, Jo decides. In the good spirit of Christmas. And if making Ichi suffer happens to be one of his favorite hobbies, well, it’s only incidental. 

“You’ve never kissed a girl, have you, Ichi?” he asks, meeting his eyes again. Ichi’s stare goes from him to Akiko, and back, and again, but it’s Jo he looks at when he shakes his head. Good. 

“Why don’t you have a go?” Jo suggests airily, running his fingers through Akiko’s hair. She’s sweating bullets, poor thing. He’s starting to feel warm himself, although he’s still far from getting hard (he never does before he decides it, and even then, it takes a while nowadays. He may have run out of boners during his teenage years, when the texture of underwear or the sight of a weirdly-shaped flower were enough to pop one.)

Akiko gapes at him with wide eyes, but he doesn’t miss the way her cheeks flush. 

“I- Sir! I…”

“Come on,” Jo murmurs in her neck, in her ear, lips pressed against her temple. “He’s very fond of you, can’t you tell?”

He half-expects Ichi to jump from his seat and excuse himself. Or to have the girl suddenly turn around and slap him. It doesn’t happen, and the rush of control is tingling in his spine.

It’s been a while since he felt like this. Akiko and Ichi are both staring at him the way Ikumi did back then, when he suggested something ludicrous he had seen in a stolen porn tape, and she squirmed and protested and then eventually, every time, caved in. 

Akiko leans towards Ichi with a little laugh. Even when she puts a timid hand on the lapel of his shirt, Ichi is still watching Jo with a hundred questions in his eyes - is this a test, is this a dream, are you going to kill me. Jo is careful not to answer any of them, keeping his face impassive as stone. Uncertainty is a good look on Ichi, one that he relishes. 

Jo strokes Akiko’s back and pushes her forwards, his other hand still lazily working between her legs. Ichi’s eyes are locked with Jo’s as the girl presses her lips on his. It takes him a second to close his eyes, and to raise a shaky hand to her shoulder. It’s almost endearing, really. And maybe just a little bit hot. It is a very chaste kiss, with no tongue at all. Akiko chuckles against Ichi’s mouth, and he does too, the absurdity of the situation clearly catching up with them both. Jo doesn’t like that. He digs his nails in the meat of Akiko’s thigh, and leans into her shoulder to bite her nape. 

“Was that supposed to be a kiss? Do it properly.”

She shivers, and he can hear her sigh into Ichi’s mouth as she deepens it. The good girl he purrs into her ear is not entirely earnt, but it gets her breathing hot and heavy. Jo watches from behind her shoulder. 

It’s still not a very good kiss. Ichi is fumbling with all the subtlety and grace of a horny teenager. Jo can’t help it: he tsks. Ichi’s eyes snap open, like he’s suddenly terrified for his life. 

“Less tongue,” Jo instructs. “Stop trying to lick her tonsils, for fuck’s sake.” 

Akiko laughs, and buries her face in her hands. Merciless, Jo grabs them and holds them to her sides. Ichi is looking at him with the same intense focus as earlier. It’s a little infuriating that this is what it takes to make him listen to his captain, but so be it. It’s good practice, Jo decides. 

“Do it again. Slow and steady. And use your teeth.”

Ichi does, which is unfortunate proof that he is able to comprehend a goddamn order when he wants to. Jo is going to beat his ass bloody the next time he pretends he didn’t understand his instructions. 

In the meantime, he bites and sucks on the side of Akiko’s neck while Ichi kisses her, nice and slow. Jo is holding both her plump wrists in one hand, and he sneaks the other under her shirt. He likes the softness of her stomach and the weight of her breasts. She whimpers when he pinches a hard nipple through her bra, and Jo sees Ichi carefully close his teeth around her bottom lip. A full-body shiver shakes the girl. Jo smiles against her skin. He can see people at the bar looking their way, so he slowly removes his hand from her shirt. There’s a fine line between asserting dominance, and getting the cops called in for indecent exposure. 

“Ichi,” Jo says, and he’s delighted to see Ichi sit up in attention, eyes fixed on him. 

“Captain?”

“Make yourself useful and grab our coats. Which one is yours?” He eyes Akiko. 

“Uh. Beige. It’s got a butterfly on the sleeve.”

“Got that, Ichi?”

“Yes, captain.” Ichi goes to stand, then hesitates and sits back with a wince. Jo sighs through his nose, annoyance rising the hairs on his nape. Obedience didn’t last long after all. 

“Hum,” Ichi stammers, crossing his legs awkwardly under the table. “Can it wait for like, five minutes?”

Jo stares at him in silence. The blush creeping on Ichi’s face is enough to entertain him in the meantime, he supposes. 

“You’ve got two minutes,” he states, charitable. Akiko’s face is burning too, and she’s fidgeting. Jo wraps an arm around her shoulders and drags her close to his chest, chin resting over her head. It’s not meant as comfort, just as a way to make sure she doesn’t bolt from her nerves, but he can feel her relax ever-so-slightly in his arms. 

Ichi keeps staring at them. Something flies through his face, that could look like fondness if Jo didn’t know better. 

Downing his cocktail, Ichi finally gets up on wobbly feet and heads to the coathangers. Jo flips a coin in his mind. Heads, Ichi comes back to his senses, realizes how many lines he’s crossed by ingratiating himself into his captain’s space, and he brings back two coats. Tails…

Ichi returns with three coats in his arms. 

Well, then. 

—

The love hotel Jo picks is not the fanciest, but it’s the closest one. He can feel Akiko’s nervousness rising, the second they step out of the bar. I’m being taken to a secondary location, what am I thinking, anxious glances left and right and excuses to chicken out at the tip of her tongue. Jo takes her hand. She smiles, but it’s tense. It’s Ichi, incredibly, who manages to defuse her stress. 

“Can I hold your hand too?” Ichi pleads on her other side. “I forgot to take gloves, I’m gonna freeze my pinkie off.”

“That would be a waste,” Jo can’t help saying.

Ichi grins, and interlaces his fingers with Akiko’s, swaying their joined hands in the cold night air. It’s late, and the rain has mercifully stopped for now. The night lights of Kamurocho are shining twice as brightly, with their reflections on the wet pavement. Jo thinks they must look pretty peculiar like this, the three of them wandering the street and holding hands. It makes the girl chuckle, at least. 

Maybe bringing Ichi along wasn’t such a bad idea, Jo muses. There’s a chance Akiko could have fled off now, without the kid and his goofy demeanor. And Jo may be an asshole in about every possible way, but he is not a rapist. Forcing oneself on a woman is tasteless, cowardly and, quite frankly, an embarrassing admission of sexual incompetence. Jo always gets a rush of satisfaction when the family is tasked with removing that kind of indesirables. 

Akiko and Ichi trade glances and hushed giggles in his back while he gets the room. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he hears the girl confide in a whisper. 

“Me neither!” Ichi mumbles excitedly. 

And me either, Jo thinks, but no way in hell am I admitting it. He can’t afford to show a shred of hesitation with those two in tow. He’s in charge now. He’ll have to own up to it. 

So he does, as soon as he pushes the door of the love suite. Round bed, mirror on the ceiling, condoms and lube on the table. Nothing too fancy or too distracting - he does not need Ichi playing with a sex swing or wondering aloud if you can use paddles for table tennis. Akiko hesitates for half a second before stepping in ; Jo grabs her around the waist and lifts her up, mouth claiming hers, before he shoves her on the bed and sits atop her thighs. She’s panting. Jo studies her face. Her pupils are so wide that her eyes almost look black. He smiles. Good. Very good. 

Sliding down the bed between her legs, Jo kneels on the floor and removes her tights, at long last. Akiko lifts her hips to help, and he rewards her with a kiss on her round knee. Her skin is soft and pale. The fat of her ass yields wonderfully under his fingers when he grabs her in a tight grasp. 

Her pants are soaking wet, and she whines when he bites the inside of her thigh. Jo hears Ichi swear under his breath, and he lifts his eyes. Ichi is staring, hands very demurely crossed in front of his pants. It doesn’t do much to hide the massive tent there. 

Right. Jo brought this upon himself. He could just ignore the kid and let him watch, and he’s pretty sure it would still count as the most exciting experience in Ichi’s life. He’s not sure it would be fun for long, though. Besides, if Jo hits a hurdle with keeping himself hard, a silent audience is the last thing he needs. 

“Come closer, Ichi,” he orders. Ichi’s awkward walk towards the bed reminds him of a penguin. Akiko bites down a smile. 

“Undress him,” Jo tells the girl. He can feel the hesitant stare they share, but he doesn’t look up. Act as though people will follow your orders, and they will. He busies himself with running his tongue across the fabric of Akiko’s panties, kissing and teasing and relishing her closemouthed whimpers. 

One glance up tells him Akiko has started unbuttoning Ichi’s shirt. Ichi’s eyes are glued to Jo, though. He’s biting his bottom lip, and his chest is raising and falling under the girl’s fingers. His skin is still civilian-blank. Jo knows Arakawa-san plans to offer him a visit to Utabori for his twenty years. The irezumi master doesn’t ink teenagers - he wants nothing to do with half-baked souls. 

Jo wonders what kind of tattoo Ichi will get. 

He pushes the cotton undies to the side, and dives his tongue between Akiko’s folds. Eyes closed, he savors her taste and the trembling legs around his face. The sounds are muffled between her thighs, but he can still hear her moans and Ichi’s voice. 

“Uh, captain?”

Jo looks up in annoyance. Ichi is naked, broad chest and toned legs on display. There’s a trail of dark brown hair running down his navel to his groin, and it’s a good thing that Jo isn’t the type to feel intimidated by comparison, because holy shit. The kid (definitely not a kid anymore, Jo has to admit, with pretty considerable proof under his eyes right now) is big. 

“What now?” Ichi asks, shuffling from one foot to another. Jo feels two pairs of eyes on him, expectantly waiting for an answer. A pang of anxiety hits him for a second, before excitement takes over. Oh, this is nice. This is fun. Maybe that’s why Shiraga likes directing porn so much, Jo thinks. There is definitely something to playing with people like dolls.

Jo gets to his feet, and sits behind Akiko, bunching her skirt to her hips. 

“Come here. Get on your knees.” Ichi obeys, dutifully sitting on his heels between the girl’s legs. Jo removes her sweater and unbuttons her shirt. Akiko’s bra is beige and unassuming, so unworthy of the fantastic tits spilling from it. She looks utterly debauched like this, with her legs spread and her chest framed by the cotton folds. She’s going to keep the shirt on, Jo decides. And nothing else. 

“Take her panties off,” he commands, squeezing her breasts in an appreciative grasp. The girl tries to close her legs in modesty once Ichi has stripped her. Jo won’t allow that ; his hands go straight to her knees and open them wide in front of Ichi’s face. 

Jo is not sure what it is that gets to him. The amazement on Ichi’s face? The embarrassed noise the girl lets out with her black bush on display? The fact that both of them look up to him, waiting for his instructions?  

He gets hard, and it’s so sudden that it’s almost painful. His dick throbs in his pants. Jo feels it all the way to his stomach. His heart is beating through his chest. That’s new. 

He spreads Akiko’s fuzzy folds open with two fingers, trying to regain his composure. He’s got this. He’s the one in charge. He is in control, even if his dick is acting out. It’s not that abnormal to get hard with a half-naked girl in his lap, after all. 

“Labia, vagina, clit,” Jo mechanically points while Ichi stares. “You focus on that one. If you’re using your fingers, don’t touch it directly, it’s about as sensitive as the head of your cock.” (And now is not the time to bring up the painful ecstasy of abusing the tip of his cock, Jo thinks. Ichi can figure that out on his own later.) “You either go from the sides like this” - Akiko chokes on a gasp as Jo pinches - “or over the top with the hood”. 

He demonstrates under Ichi’s attentive eyes. Akiko writhes and whines until it almost sounds like she’s crying, the precious thing. She holds a hand to her face, wriggling in shame on Jo’s lap. It’s poking all his buttons, and he can feel himself getting mean. He bites at her earlobe, and flicks her core with his thumb. 

“Oh, fuck,” Akiko pants. She’s close already. That won’t do, even if he’s curious to see how many times he could make her come before she begs for a break. Jo removes his fingers, and lets her contort in frustration. Maybe he can make her cry proper, if he keeps this up long enough. 

Ichi’s hands are clutched on his knees. He watches, mouth slightly open, teeth bothering his plump lips. His dark cock lies heavy and full on the fold between his thighs. It’s dripping, like Akiko. It looks good, Jo thinks out of nowhere, and his own dick does something he’s not quite sure about. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out to Ichi’s head, and grasps him by the hair. 

Ichi locks eyes with him. God, but the depth of those eyes. Jo feels his head swim a little. Maybe it’s because of his guilty conscience, maybe it’s a sprout of his devotion for Arakawa-san. Maybe it’s just the way light paints a thousand nuances of brown in there, specks of gold and glints of steel. 

“Use your mouth. No teeth this time,” Jo instructs, voice hoarse. “As much tongue as you want. And suck.”

Ichi nods vigorously, and doesn’t protest when Jo pulls him forwards, until his face is buried in Akiko’s crotch. With the way Jo is sitting, wrapped behind the girl’s back, it almost feels like dragging Ichi to his own cock. 

Jo feels precum leak from his tip at that thought. He lets go of Ichi’s hair immediately. It doesn’t deter him - and Ichi’s enthusiasm is always a thing to behold. The girl is wonderfully vocal, so Jo can tell by sound when Ichi runs an exploratory tongue through her bushy folds, and when he closes his mouth to nurse on her clit. 

Ichi is, evidently, better at this than he is at kissing. 

Jo watches over her shoulder. It’s a very nice sight. He idly wonders what Ichi’s mouth feels like. Hot, soft, lush, probably. He has pretty lips, and god knows if there’s one thing he can do, it’s running his mouth for hours.

It doesn’t feel like a very safe field for thought. Jo tries to focus on the wonderful tits in his hands instead. It takes him a second longer than it should. 

It’s fine. It’s an unusual situation, that’s all. He just needs to get his head back in the game and stay in control. Akiko’s offending bra is a perfect target for that. Jo slides a knife out of his jacket, and the sound of the blade is enough to make both Ichi and the girl still and stare at him in silence. 

There it is. The rush of power. Jo smiles, and looks down on Ichi. 

“I don’t recall telling you to stop.”

“Uh, sir,” Ichi says as diplomatically as he can, face glistening wet with Akiko’s pleasure. “What the f- I mean, what are you doing?”

Jo almost wants to slice a red line across his cheek for his impudence. Akiko’s hands are clutching at his arm now, and there’s genuine fear in her eyes. If it had only been the two of them, Jo would have gotten away with cutting off all her clothes. Maybe even leaving a little notch somewhere, just enough for a drop of blood. Between her breasts, why not, where the irezumi marking her as a yakuza wife would go. 

He can tell she likes this, the mix of thrill and terror. But it’s much more difficult to indulge in it with Ichi serving as a beaming compass of normalcy in the room. 

Fine, fine. What a shame, Jo thinks. He slowly runs the tip of the blade across the girl’s stomach, around her breasts, up to her neck. He enjoys her soft, terrified whimper when he slides it across her clavicle. Ichi’s eyes are narrowed, his shoulders tense. On his face, Jo can read a defiance he only knows too well. 

Don’t you dare, Ichi’s eyes challenge him. I’ll stop you. 

Jo wonders if Ichi really thinks he’s about to slice the girl’s throat. It’s not like Ichi knows him that well, after all. And Jo’s reputation precedes him. He’s worked hard at it. Still, he’s not sure how he feels about it. Weird enough that his dick softens in his pants, at least. 

The straps on Akiko’s bra give easily under the blade. It takes a flick at the clasps in her back, and her tits come pooling out of their constraint. Jo gives a humorless smile, and slides the blade back into his jacket. Ichi breathes. Akiko sighs, and leans her head back until it’s resting on Jo’s shoulder. She’s shaking, but her eyes are half-closed and her hands are stroking Jo’s with something close to adoration. Her nipples are wide and dark, like two kisses on the silky skin of her tits. She looks jaw-dropping like this, with her shirt clinging to sweaty skin and her perfect, heavy breasts spread-out for all to see. Jo is saving that image in his mind for lonely nights ahead.  

Ichi looks a bit bashful. He opens his mouth to say something, but Jo cuts him. He doesn’t want to hear whatever half-hearted apology is going to come next. 

“Watch.”

Ichi bows his head, and does. Jo slides his hand down again, finds his way through the wet mess that Akiko has become, and pushes two fingers in. He suddenly wonders if the girl is a virgin as well - one, he can handle, but two? Even for him, that’s a bit much. He’s relieved to find her open and malleable. 

He can see it in his mind’s eye. The first painful fumbling in the dark, watching the ceiling while a nice boyfriend labors unsatisfyingly above her body. Convincing herself that love is what really matters, that she can make herself come on her own anyway, that she’s not made to be a sexual creature. 

Weirdly enough, Jo finds himself hoping that she comes home tomorrow with better standards for herself. She deserves to get railed within an inch of her life. 

“You’re really fucking hot,” he whispers in her ear. Call it sentiment. Akiko presses his arm stronger, and leans her head towards him for an over-the-shoulder kiss. He takes his time, fingering her slowly while she sighs in his mouth. 

“Give me your index, Ichi,” Jo says. Ichi blinks, and points it vaguely up, like he’s E.T going for a call. Jo can’t help snorting. 

“In there,” he states with a burst of weird affection. “I’ll show you something.”

“Oh,” Ichi breathes out. He pushes a digit in with more gentleness than necessary. Jo shows him how to place it, how to curl, how to press in that soft spongy area until Akiko is thrashing and begging. 

“Would you just-” she pants while Ichi slides in another finger, and keeps stroking alongside Jo. There’s a strange comradery in that, Jo thinks, amused. Like they’re holding hands. 

“Sorry, what?” Jo absent-mindly says, shoving his other palm over the girl’s mouth. “Can’t hear you.” 

Akiko gives him a half-hearted glare, which lasts only until Ichi curls his fingers and Jo feels her swear against his hand. 

“Is that adequate language for a lady?” Jo chastises her, slipping his fingers into her mouth. She licks and sucks at them with a glaze in her eyes, and shakes her head. 

“Sorry, sir,” she pants once he charitably pulls out of her lips. “Would either of you just please - fuck!” She squirms on Jo’s lap. Ichi innocently looks up at her, fingers never stopping. 

“Would we what, Akiko-san?” he asks with that shit-eating grin that got him slapped multiple times. Jo will allow it, just this once. “What do you want?”

“Mouth!” she whines. Jo bites down a smirk while Ichi nods and hums. 

“I’d have to run that by my captain,” he says sagely. 

“Yeah, you should.”

Ichi looks up at Jo, all serious and disciplined. Jo manages not to crack a smile. 

“May I “mouth”, captain?”

Jo does crack a smile, then. He hums in thought, and replies:

“I’ll think about it and get back to you. In two, three business days.”

Akiko lets out a string of curses that has Jo gasp and shove his hand into her mouth again. 

“You’ll have to learn to behave, woman. In the meantime… Ichi, you heard the girl. Mouth.”

“Yes, captain.”

Jo removes his fingers from her, and watches Ichi dive forwards and let loose. At first, the little punk tries to sneak his free hand down to his leaking dick, but Jo flicks him on the ear. He doesn’t even have to say anything: Ichi whines, and puts his shaky hand over Akiko’s thigh instead, just next to Jo’s. Jo holds it in place, just to be sure. Ichi’s fingers interlock with his, a promise to be good, to behave. It’s kinda sweet, even if Ichi’s deathgrip soon has Jo’s fingers blanching too. It doesn’t take long until Akiko is thrashing properly. Jo can see Ichi’s forearm move and flex as he works his fingers, and he’s got his whole face pressed into her black bush, tonguing and sucking with loud hums of delight. Jo is more of a quiet enjoyer himself, but god, there is something to Ichi’s ferocity that he can’t help appreciate. Akiko does too, if her wailing is any indication. 

Jo holds her spread open in a tight grasp while Ichi relentlessly eats her out. He’s a helpful man. She comes loudly, the way Jo likes. Her nails are digging into his clothed legs, at her sides. He doesn’t mind. That suit has been through worse. 

Ichi, bless him, keeps going. His eyes are closed and he looks utterly blissed out. Jo watches with growing amusement, until it becomes clear he won’t stop until he’s told to. Akiko is sobbing in earnest now, head banging back into Jo’s shoulder. 

“That’s enough, Ichi,” Jo states. Ichi glances up and blinks. He looks a little disappointed. Then, with his eyes locked into Jo’s, he gives one last provocative little lick before leaning out. Akiko yelps. 

Oh, there’s gonna be hell to pay, Jo decides fondly. But for now, he’s done good. 

“Did it work?” Ichi asks, a bit bashful. “Was it good?”

“She came,” Jo says while Akiko lifts a shaky thumb. “Congratulations, you gave your first orgasm.”

The look on Ichi’s face is priceless. He goes through a whole range of emotions in a five-second span - is this sarcasm, is it true, did I really win at sex, and settles on undignified joy. He’s grinning ear to ear. It’s kinda cute. 

“Good job, Ichi,” Jo adds, just to check something. “Very good.”

Ichi lights up like a Christmas tree, back straightening and mouth falling open. His eyes search Jo’s for confirmation, and then bashfully lower. His hand is clenching even harder on Jo’s fingers. Over his muscular thighs, his gorgeous dick leaks and twitches a bit. 

Ah. So Ichi likes praise, too. Jo isn’t sure how he managed to miss that in all these years - not that he gave him enough of it to notice it, anyway. That could be useful in the future, if Jo can muster the strength to congratulate him every now and then. 

In the meantime, Ichi has deserved a treat. Jo makes him lie on the bed, and pushes Akiko over him. She’s limp-boned and dazed, but she slides over Ichi’s chest without protestation. Jo lets them kiss for a minute while he unknots his tie. 

“Have some mercy on the boy,” he orders once he’s done, grabbing her by the hair and tugging her down. “Give back a little of what you’ve gotten, hmm?”

Akiko nods and mutters a yes sir that goes straight to his dick, before settling over Ichi’s thighs. Her tongue work isn’t as wild as Ichi’s, but Jo doesn’t feel qualified to give blowjob lessons. He just holds the back of her head and pushes her down when she takes him in his mouth. Ichi’s hips roll up, his back arching. And still, still, it’s Jo he’s eyeing under heavy eyelids, face contorting in delight as his toes curl over the mattress. It’s starting to get worrying. What if the kid is a bit of a queer? 

Jo almost slaps himself for that thought. It’s Ichi’s first time. Provocative or not, he is very much his junior. If anyone is to blame for anything weird happening tonight, it’s Jo, and only Jo. 

It’s fine. Nothing weird needs to happen, and nothing will. If anything, two men fucking a girl - that’s double the heterosexuality, really. Jo shoots a reassuring smile at Ichi and ignores the knot in his throat when the kid chokes on a moan, eyes still on him. Akiko’s ass is up: that’s a perfect distraction. The view is making him salivate. Jo sets his jacket straight on a hanger, rolls his shirtsleeves to his elbows, and bites down on a meaty cheek. Hard. 

The yelp that escapes Akiko makes him chuckle, and he holds her in place when she tries to shimmy away. 

“Hey, that hurt!” she complains out loud. Jo slaps her across the ass, partly as retaliation, mostly to see that delightful expanse of fat wobble from the hit. Akiko protests again, reaching to her buttock with a hand in protection. Jo snatches her wrist. 

“I hear you a lot, for a woman who’s supposed to have her mouth full.”

“He’s too big. My jaw hurts,” she mumbles with a pout. True as that may be, Jo doesn’t buy her complaint one second - he can see the flush on her cheeks, matching the one on her ass. 

“Are you talking back to me?” His hand flies again, and the sound of the slap across her buttocks echoes in the room. God, but she’s meant for this. Akiko’s shout turns to a spill of laughter, and she buries her head in Ichi’s pecs. 

“Ichiban-san, help,” she half-giggles, half-whines. Ichi looks them both in the eye, and seems to read the room a little better this time, because he cards his fingers through her short hair and pats her on the back. 

“There’s no talking to him when he’s like that,” he sighs, making eye-contact with Jo. “Just nod and say sorry captain as if you meant it.”

“Tell you what,” Jo says pleasantly, stroking Akiko’s abused buttocks. “Bite his dick off, and you’re off the hook.”

Akiko raises her head from Ichi’s stomach, and looks down. 

“Sorry,” she says very seriously before diving headfirst. Ichi squeals and jumps, hands protectively crossed in front of his junk. Jo laughs loudly. Akiko turns back to him, mouth curling down in a dramatic grimace. 

“I tried,” she signals, raising a finger. Jo bites down his smile. 

“You failed,” he replies, grabbing her asscheek. The imprint of his hand is still there, a little red. Not enough. 

“How many can you take?” he asks conversationally. “Five? Ten?”

Akiko’s eyes widen. She bites her bottom lip. 

“M-maybe four? Do we count the ones that-”

“Let’s do five,” Jo decides. “Now be good and keep that damn mouth busy.” It looks like she’s going to argue, so he gives the first without warning. She whines, but her back arches and he sees her toes curl into the sheets. Her pussy is dripping wet, without surprise. 

“We can talk if you want,” Jo hears Ichi suggest. “Technically, that qualifies as keeping your mouth busy.”

“No,” Jo states, very firmly. The idea of Ichi and the girl shooting the shit while he’s desperately trying to keep the mood where it should be is enough to make him sweat. Ichi is a nightmare to his authority, always has been.

“Put that mouth wherever you want,” he orders. “His tits, his balls, his ass. But I better not hear you.”

“I don’t have tits!” Ichi protests indignantly. Akiko makes a noise of disagreement, stroking his wide pecs. 

“Nipples are nipples,” Jo says. Just for good measure, he leans over Ichi and flicks him in one. Ichi flinches, then squirms on the mattress with an uncertain look. 

“Ah! Oh… Actually, do that again?”

He’s got that provocative light in his damn eyes. Jo flicks him on the nose instead, like a misbehaving dog. 

“Don’t push it,” he says. Something in his chest twists, ugly and painful.

Ichi rubs his nose with a sullen look, then mumbles something that Jo decides not to hear, while Akiko, ever pleasant, latches on Ichi’s nipple with her soft mouth. It’s not long before he is humming in appreciation, softly gasping every time the girl closes her teeth around the hardened nub. 

She does that a lot in reflex when Jo spanks her, which is double the win. He goes up to eight before the choked sob she lets out starts to sound properly hurt. She might actually bite Ichi’s nipple off if he keeps this up.

“Very good,” Jo says, rubbing the reddened skin where blossoming bruises will paint purple flowers tomorrow. “Very, very good. That’s enough. You took it so well.” 

He kisses her on the abused skin, up her tailbone, below the curve of her buttocks. Just lips ghosting against her at first, fingers barely teasing her clit from behind, until she’s trembling and whining the right way again. 

Jo runs his tongue down the valley of her ass until it’s pressing against her pink, puckered hole. He slides two fingers in her slit at the same time, and strokes her clit with the pad of his thumb. 

He closes his mouth around that clenched ring of muscle, and sucks. Akiko moans, hoarse and loud. Properly filthy. Ichi cranes his neck, eyebrows raised.

“What on earth are you doing back there?” 

“Trade secret,” Jo amiably replies, lips ghosting against the delicate skin of her perineum. 

Ichi gives him a halfhearted kick, mild enough that Jo doesn’t feel the need to break his shin. He leans back between Akiko’s cheeks, peppering her soft skin with touches of his mouth, then pushing his tongue flat on her hole and licking broadly. The noise she makes is loud enough to drown his wet kisses. She could come again from this, probably. Jo considers it for a minute, hand slipping in his trousers and beginning to stroke himself hard. Then again, it doesn’t look like she’s working very hard on Ichi. He glances up, and gets confirmation. Instead of earning her pleasure, the girl is whimpering, face pressed against Ichi’s chest while he’s got an arm wrapped around her back, the other folded under his head. It looks very cute. Would warm a man’s heart, really, if the man in question was looking for a cuddling session instead of a threesome. 

Jo gives a deliberate nip of the teeth to a bruise on Akiko’s ass, and leans back. His stomach is churning. He’s angry, and he’s not quite sure why. He can feel Ichi’s eyes on him, so he keeps his attention on the girl’s buttocks. 

“Captain?” The prudence in Ichi’s voice makes him reel. It makes the anger worse. If he asks him if he’s okay, Jo decides, he’s out of here. The two of them can enjoy each other, then. 

“Hmm?” Jo hums between pinched lips. He ignores the nasty little voice suggesting that they might have a better time without him, in fact. They’re about the same age. They’re clearly very comfortable together. God, but they look really, gut-churningly fucking sweet like this. 

Jo meets Ichi’s gaze. The kid is biting his lip, and staring at him with those big, stupid doe eyes. 

“Aren’t you gonna take off your clothes, too?” 

Jo’s heart skips a beat. His forehead is sweating, suddenly. There’s a little tinge of hope in Ichi’s voice, that probably shouldn’t be there. Jo snorts, and asks in a dismissive tone: 

“Why? Are you so curious to see me naked, Ichi?”

Ichi nods without a shred of shame. He’s got a little lopsided smile, and Jo’s stomach does a double flip. The unexplainable burst of anger is fizzling to nothing. He’s not quite sure what to reply to that. Empty excuses come to the tip of his tongue, something about not liking civilians seeing his tattoos, something about Ichi behaving like a fucking faggot, something about his shirt being too expensive to take off. Nothing sticks. 

His dick is suddenly hard again. Of all the goddamn things to turn him on, this is possibly his lowest point ever. Before he knows it, Jo’s hand is at the top button of his shirt. 

Ichi watches him strip, fingers carding through Akiko’s hair while she nuzzles against his side. He removes them for a second to guide her hand to his dick, and gives her wrist a lazy, gentle rhythm. 

Sweat dribbles down Jo’s spine as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt. Ichi is looking at him, eyes wide open, with unapologetic interest on his dumb face. All while getting his dick stroked.

It’s the tattoos, Jo firmly choses to believe. The kid is just curious about his irezumi. He’s never seen his seniors naked. It’s fascination, not desire. Nothing weird there. Jo does not look at Akiko’s hand working that thick dark cock, either. That would be weird, so he doesn’t. 

Ichi’s mouth gapes a little when Jo slides the shirt off his shoulders and down his back. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but that rush of admiration makes his blood fizz in his veins. He knows he’s got a handsome figure - he’s strong, rippling with lean muscle under the full suit of ink covering him from shoulders to thighs. Utabori did a masterpiece of his body. He knows that, rationally. The amazement on Ichi’s face still feels like a revelation, for some reason. 

He unbuckles his belt with dread. He’s never felt self-conscious about his dick before, but if Ichi makes a fucking comment, he’s throwing the kid through a window. And then the girl, too, for plausible deniability. He pushes his pants down, and kneels back on the bed, looming over the entangled pair. Ichi’s eyes survey his stomach, his groin, his inked thighs, the lines of cherry blossoms tattooed along his waist, down and up, never stopping. The wonder in his gaze doesn’t wane, not for a second. Jo exhales through his nose. He’s relieved, which is stupid, because it’s not like he gives a rat’s ass about Ichi’s opinion. 

It’s nice to be admired. That’s all this is. 

He grabs Akiko by the hips, and forces her back on all fours over Ichi, without gentleness. Before she has time to protest, he’s pushing a finger deep into the tight ring of her ass. She gasps, but Jo clicks his tongue. 

“Relax. You knew this was coming.” And she knows what’s coming next, Jo can see in the anxious look she shoots him over her shoulder. Good. He’s not in the mood for playing with her nerves anymore - he just wants to use her body, get off, and go home. It’s all starting to feel a little too dangerous for his taste. And he’s got work in the morning.

He goes up to grab the lube and a handful of condoms. Ichi is gawking, and there’s a big stupid grin on his big stupid mouth. Jo almost feels like slapping it off. His fingers are shaking when he slips a condom over his cock. His plum tip is shiny wet, and he is so hard that his balls hurt. He has to press his taint to keep himself in check. 

Scissoring the girl open doesn’t take very long. She sniffles and whines and stutters something, but Jo isn’t really listening anymore. Maybe he rushes it a bit, and maybe he could have prepared her better, because she clenches around his length when he finally lines up his dick against her ass and pushes into that tight little ring. Warm. Tense. He bottoms out, grabbing her beautiful hips. She wails. Jo shudders, eyes half-shut. Fuck, he could come like this, if he allowed himself-

“Do you want my mouth?” Ichi murmurs. His voice is velvety, and that’s almost enough to take Jo over the edge. He lets out a sound - which he never does, Jo fucks like a man, quiet and intense and maybe a satisfied grunt at the end if the orgasm hits right. It’s almost a moan, and Jo’s eyes snap open in horror. No way in hell is he coming from Ichi’s dirty talk - what the fuck is wrong with him - and actually, while he’s at it, what the fuck is wrong with the kid, to offer something like that, like some kind of dicksucking queer-

“Yeah,” Akiko mewls. 

Jo blinks, feels a drop of sweat run down his jaw, and almost bursts out laughing. 

Right. Of course Ichi was talking to the girl. Of course. 

Very politely, Ichi’s foot nudges Jo’s knees on the bed, and Jo isn’t quite sure why he complies, but he opens his legs all the same. Ichi shimmies down the mattress like a ridiculous caterpillar. Jo wants to laugh, but then Ichi’s maneuvered himself lying on his back with his face right under the girl’s pussy, his large chest between her legs, between Jo’s legs, both of them straddling his warm pecs while Jo is still buried in her ass, and Ichi’s hands come stroking up both hers and Jo’s thighs, and he’s looking straight at Jo when he grabs his hips and pulls them down until Akiko is sitting on his mouth. 

She whines, high-pitched and shaky. Jo looks at Ichi over her shoulder. He feels the kid’s fingers dig into the back of his thighs, and Ichi winks. At him. Eye to eye, with his mouth full of girl. Jo thinks he might throw up, maybe. His vision is tunneling. He can feel Ichi’s hot breath on his balls as he laps up Akiko’s clit. It’s humid and quick, like a panting animal. Pleasure hits Jo like a lightning stroke. The girl’s growing orgasm is fucking contagious. 

He can’t pull his eyes away from Ichi’s. His thighs are on fire where the little fucker’s nails are gently raking his inked skin. 

He should stop this. Right now. Incidental contact is one thing; there’s going to be some boundaries stretched in this scenario, some skin-to-skin, some casual touch that would otherwise be unacceptable. Jo doesn’t care enough about bodies to mind it, but this - god, this is deliberate. Ichi is touching him, and Jo isn’t sure whether it matters that he is balls-deep in a girl’s ass while Ichi is tongue-deep in her cunt. 

This is dangerous. This is too far. 

And yet this is so, so good. He’s almost delirious with lust. It takes everything in him to close his eyes and count to ten, before grabbing Akiko by the waist and lifting both of them away from Ichi’s treacherous mouth. His ears are ringing; the girl says something, probably complaining about the loss of that wonderful tongue, but Jo isn’t really processing it anymore. He sits down on the edge of the bed, like earlier, with her ass in his lap swallowing his cock. Her legs spread open without him having to ask, which, good- he’s not sure he can muster a lot of patience anymore.

“Condom,” he says without looking at Ichi. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Ichi hurries, and utterly fails at sliding the goddamn thing over his cock. He’s trying to put it backwards: it ends up with an elastic noise and a sad little rubber flip. It lands at Jo’s feet. Ichi looks distressed. Jo is going to kill him for good, one of these days. 

“Come here.” His voice feels hoarse. He is on autopilot while he grabs Ichi’s (rock-hard, thick, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful) cock at the base, and unwraps a new condom over his length. Ichi chokes, and puts a hand over Jo’s shoulder to keep his balance. Bile or rage or something else is boiling in Jo’s chest. He squeezes, not too gently. 

“Ah- captain!” 

God, but Jo likes hearing him in pain. It’s melted butter to his ears. Ichi is staring at him with those stupid, trusting eyes, biting his lower lip with an intense grimace. Jo almost wants to give him a couple of strokes, just to see what happens. 

He doesn’t care much about dicks. He’s seen enough men in his line of work (hurt enough men too, and few things will break a man’s spirit as much as a knife to the groin) not to be fazed. But Ichi looks at him with pupils so wide, it’s like his whole eyes are black. He’s making no move to escape his grasp, or to push his hand away. 

Jo lets go. His heart is in his mouth. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. 

He vaguely grunts something as Ichi gets between Akiko’s legs, his big hands gently stroking her thighs. 

“Is this alright?” Ichi asks her, concern and desire mixing on his dumb face. While Jo should appreciate the gentleman's efforts on display (reputation is everything, and he would be vexed if the girl went home with anything less than spectacular memories of their fuck), he can’t help feeling a tug of something bad in his chest. He’s the one Ichi should be asking for permission, for advice, for guidance. God knows he’s never seen the kid as his kouhai, but still. 

Akiko nods with fervor, good girl. 

Jo feels Ichi’s cock slide in, pressing against him right on the other side of that warm wall. He almost comes on the spot. 

“Fuck,” Ichi breathes, while Akiko whines, too loud - she gets fingers slipped in her mouth again for her trouble. Jo holds her head to the side and bites at the base of her neck. He needs to hang onto something. There’s waves of pleasure tingling down his legs all the way to his toes. The scent of Ichi’s sweat mingles with Akiko’s and they smell fucking fantastic, the two of them. Jo breathes it in, deep. It’s all too much. Eyes shut, he feels Ichi’s hands roaming on the girl’s hips, so close to his own skin. It’s tight, so tight. 

“And n-now?” Ichi’s voice is wavering. “Do I move?”

Jo doesn’t have a drop of sarcasm in him anymore. He’s not sure he can take this for long. Akiko’s shirt is drenched against his chest. Her tongue swirls around his fingers, and Jo’s dick twitches. He frees the girl’s mouth - his hands lift of their own volition to grab Ichi’s hips instead. Strong muscle, warm skin. So warm. 

“Roll your hips.” Jo’s voice is a whisper. He’s not sure he can talk without croaking. “Just your hips. Just a bit. Like this.” 

He gives Ichi’s body a gentle pull, showing him into that slow rhythm that he likes best. Ichi obeys, easy as pie. It feels like flowing water, the way Ichi moves, the way his waist tenses and relaxes as he fucks her nice and steady - and gentle, so gentle. It’s a good thing Jo kept his eyes screwed shut, because feeling that thick cock stroke against his, in and out and again, again, again, is doing something to him that he doesn’t recall ever feeling with another person. He knows how to make himself come hard enough to see stars. This - this is new. 

He feels Ichi’s labored breath on his cheek, suddenly. He’s pressing himself against the girl’s chest, resting his chin on her shoulder - on the same side as Jo, inches away from where he’s still biting and kissing her neck. Jo can feel his weight, smell his sweat and his cheap cologne. Ichi moans, right in his ear.

Jo can’t help it - he moves, too. Not much he can do with his lap full of Akiko, but he rocks his hips, just a little. The small thrust has Ichi gasping. Jo doesn’t know why he opens his eyes - he needs to see him, suddenly. 

Ichi is staring through his soul. His gaze is clouded with pleasure. 

“I can feel you,” Ichi whispers, and Jo can taste his breath right on his tongue. Something snaps inside of him, because he’s seconds away from just kissing the kid on his stupid, beautiful mouth, and biting those plump lips until they bleed. 

He grabs Ichi’s waist instead, and pulls him closer. His skin is so soft, it’s ridiculous. It feels like silk under Jo’s fingers. He almost headbutts him when he presses his temple against his, stroking Ichi’s cheek with his nose, mouth ghosting on that warm jaw. Ichi’s hands wrap around his shoulders, over Akiko, and it’s Jo’s nape that he grabs, Jo’s back where his nails sink, Jo’s neck where he stutters it feels so good, sir, and it does, it does, it does. Suddenly Akiko is only a warm buffer, and Jo is fucking Ichi, or maybe Ichi is fucking him, with those deep thrusts that obediently follow Jo’s sweating palm on his tailbone.  

Jo vaguely registers that Akiko is coming again, by the sudden clench around his length and the shout he hears through the cotton in his ears. Ichi’s deathgrip on his back gets shaky, and Jo can feel his hips falter. He raises a hand to Ichi’s hair, buries his fingers there as he presses their foreheads together. Ichi’s eyes are locked with his, wide open. 

He’s waiting for permission. Good boy, Jo thinks, for the first time ever. 

“Go on,” he whispers. It doesn’t take more than this. Ichi’s face contorts in agonized delight, and he comes loud, so loud, shameless little slut that he is, and whatever breaks inside of Jo takes all the walls of his dignity as well. 

He comes with Ichi’s name on his lips. 

—

It’s fine. 

It’s fine. 

It’s fine, Jo argues with the man in the mirror. His knuckles are white on the sink, and under the black line of his still shower-damp hair, the man in the mirror has the most disapproving glare Jo has ever seen him wear. 

Except he didn’t make it as captain of the Arakawa family by wearing blinkers. He can hear Akiko and Ichi chatting behind the bathroom door, and he lets out a deep sigh. Alright, then. It’s not fine. 

Jo is not attracted to men. He knows that already, because that is the kind of serious question a boy has to ask himself when their interest in women remains limited to the satisfying yield of a good tit. He’s never considered taking male lovers, never been aroused in the slightest by the view of a man’s body. The closest it got to was back when he had just sworn up with Arakawa-san. He idly touched himself a few times then, thinking of the strong pull of a gloved hand in his hair, stroking his nape while he would be on his knees - and maybe his hands would be tied behind his back or something, and it would hurt but he wouldn’t protest because he knew he deserved it - and he would be choking on his new patriarch until he could feel atonement splash at the back of his throat. 

That doesn’t count. That was devotion, not attraction. A fucked-up sprout of his guilt, rooting itself deep in his guts and his loins. 

Jo lifts his eyes. His reflection looks a bit shaken. Is that what it is, then? It has to be. That hold that Ichi has over him, that rotten feeling inside his chest when he meets those wide, liquid eyes. That’s guilt. 

It has to be guilt. 

It makes sense, Jo muses. He hasn’t done much for the kid, apart from keeping a distant eye on him to make sure he didn’t get himself killed or kidnapped. As much as it pained him, he took the call when those fucking punks asked if a Kasuga Ichiban was a member of the family. He would have gone himself, too, if Arakawa-san hadn’t been curious to see in person who was bold enough to claim to be one of his. 

(And maybe no fingers would have been lost this day then, and Kamurocho would have mourned a couple of mysteriously-vanished yakuza.)

Jo has made peace long ago with the power that Masato and Arakawa-san both hold over him. Painful as it may be, perhaps it’s time to acknowledge that Ichi has it, too. The lost little princeling, unaware of his royal blood, deserves more than the scraps he’s been handed in life. 

Fine. 

The man in the mirror looks dismayed, but Jo knows he’s right. He will comply, then. He will give Ichi some slack, just a bit, not enough to raise attention or questions. He will make sure he finds his footing in life, and watch over him maybe a bit closer. That should quell that painful stretch in his ribcage. That should smother that weird, weird fire under his skin when he hears Ichi laugh, on the other side of the door. 

Ichi is still sprawled on the bed when Jo comes out with a towel around his hips. He scrubbed himself hard enough to get rid of their mixed scents, but the smell of sex hits him again in the suite. Rain is battering against the window. With the dimmed lights, it almost feels cozy. Ichi’s feet are kicking up in the air as he watches Akiko buttoning her shirt. The girl gives Jo a shy smile. 

“Don’t you want to use the shower, Akiko-san?” Ichi asks in a disappointed voice. Maybe he was hoping for a soapy rematch. 

“I think I’m going to head back and wash at the hotel. It’s getting late.” She looks a bit awkward. Her guard is up again, Jo can tell, now that the haze of desire has dissipated. I’m alone in a room with two yakuza and nobody knows where I went. 

“Where are you staying?” Ichi asks candidly. He’s gonna offer to walk her back, unaware of her sudden anxiety. The way she bites her lip, Jo knows she’s going to lie, so he cuts her. 

“It’s raining. Get a cab.” 

He fishes his wallet in his suit jacket, and hands her a few more bank bills than necessary. Her big eyes are hesitant when she grabs the money. Is that a debt, am I associated with you people now, are you going to come back and collect? he can read on her face. 

With a small smile, Jo adds another bill. 

“And a new bra,” he says, unapologetic. “Maybe something a bit more worthy of your tits.”

After a second of silence, Akiko chuckles. There she is again, Jo thinks fondly, that emboldened girl with a bright path ahead of her. He can’t help but wonder what she’s going to become next. 

“I’ll have you know this one had very good suspension, sir,” she says, running a disapproving thumb on her sliced straps. “It’s not so easy to find something for my size.”

“Do you need an address?” Ichi offers, still on his stomach with his feet up. “I used to shop all the time for the girls in my, uh, house.”

“I’ll find something,” Akiko deflects with a crooked smile. There is gratitude in her eyes when she bows to Jo, though. He pats her on the head. And then on the ass when she turns her heels, because, well. He’s only a man. 

Ichi watches her leave with melancholy. He sighs deeply as he rolls to his back. 

“I didn’t even get her number,” he says to the ceiling. Jo shrugs. 

“Better this way. You’ve got to accept that sometimes, you’re just a stepping stone on the path of people’s lives.”

Maybe it’s because the girl has left, maybe it’s because his promise to himself is bringing him some peace. Maybe it’s the way the soft light paints the suite, and the comforting pitter-patter of the rain on the window. Maybe it’s the relaxed stretch of Ichi’s naked body on the bed, casual as it gets, like they’re just chilling at an onsen. Jo feels better now. He gets his cigarette pack out of his jacket, and slips one between his lips.

Ichi almost falls flat on his face when he jumps out of the bed to fumble to his own jacket, abandoned on the floor. Jo snorts. He waits until Ichi yanks out his lighter in triumph. In a burst of comradery, he pulls another cigarette while Ichi lights him up, and offers it to him. 

They both lie down on the bed, ashtray in the middle. Jo had forgotten about the ceiling mirror - there’s no ignoring it now, with their two reflections lounging up there. Ichi’s head is resting on his folded arm. Jo’s eyes trace the lines of his uninked body, from his armpit to his waist, the strong muscle of his thighs, the delicate curve of his ankle. Something stirs again in his stomach, and he draws a long drag on his cigarette to keep it at bay. 

The Ichi in the mirror, above him, smiles a smile that lights up his entire face, from the creases around his eyes to the dimples on his cheeks. It feels like watching the sun rise. And to Jo’s horror, the Jo in the mirror smiles back. Despite himself, stiff and crooked, but he smiles. 

The painful, rotten pit in Jo’s chest flutters. He should probably see a doctor about it. 

He watches as Mirror Ichi nudges his foot closer to Mirror Jo’s shin. It's almost a surprise when he feels his toes poke at him. 

“That was fun,” Ichi says, and the Ichi up there is grinning big and wide at Jo, for Jo, and Jo’s face hurts with the stretch of his own lips. 

“It was.” 

It can’t ever happen again. 

Notes:

Dai-senpai (=great senpai) is either a term for an experienced, life-changing mentor... or a very sarcastic expression. Your pick!

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Might update with a part 2 if inspiration strikes, but this works very well as a one-shot too.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of An Education in Seasons