Chapter 4: Bj for dad
The penthouse was silent save for the distant pulse of Tokyo far below. No forest smells here, just cold glass, polished steel, and the lingering ozone of a settled storm. Baki stood by the vast window, his reflection a ghost over the city lights. The final fight was over. The blows exchanged, the blood spilled, the unspoken things screamed through fists and feet. It had ended not with a victor and a vanquished, but with something else entirely—a recognition, brutal and earned.
Yujiro sat in a low leather chair, a shadow against the room’s darkness, a glass of amber whiskey untouched on the table beside him. He watched Baki, his gaze a physical weight.
“You’re standing there like a stranger,” Yujiro said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “After everything.”
Baki turned from the window. The neon light cut across his face, highlighting the fading bruise along his jawline—a souvenir from Yujiro’s fist. “I’m not a stranger,” Baki said. His voice was quiet, but it didn’t waver. “I know what you gave me. In that ring.”
A grunt. “I gave you nothing. You took it.”
“Same thing.” Baki took a step forward, then another, crossing the expanse of cool flooring until he stood before his father’s chair. He didn’t kneel. He simply looked down, meeting those demonic eyes. “I want to give you something. A thank you. Not with my fists.”
Yujiro’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of dark interest within them. He didn’t speak. He just leaned back, spreading his thighs in a slow, deliberate motion, an unspoken command.
Baki understood. He sank to his knees on the hard floor, the position both submissive and intent. His hands went to the belt of Yujiro’s trousers, his fingers working the buckle, the button, the zipper with a calm efficiency that belied the hammering of his heart. He pushed the fabric down, exposing Yujiro’s cock. It was already half-hard, a thick, heavy weight against his thigh.
Baki didn’t hesitate. He didn’t tease. He leaned forward, opened his mouth, and took the head inside in one smooth motion.
Yujiro let out a sharp, hissed breath. His hand immediately fisted in Baki’s hair, not guiding, just claiming, anchoring.
The taste was familiar—salt, skin, a hint of musk. Baki relaxed his jaw and began to work, using his tongue in broad, wet strokes along the underside of the shaft. He went deeper, letting his throat open for the intrusion, his nose pressing into the coarse hair at the base. He pulled back until just the tip rested on his tongue, then plunged down again, establishing a deep, sucking rhythm.
“Sloppier,” Yujiro growled, his voice thick. His grip tightened in Baki’s hair. “You know how. Make a fucking mess.”
Baki obeyed. He let saliva pool in his mouth, letting it spill out generously around his stretched lips, coating Yujiro’s cock in a slick, shining glaze. Every upward stroke was accompanied by a loud, wet pop, every descent a guttural, choked sound from his own throat as he took it deep. Spit dribbled down his chin, onto his own chest, a lewd testament to his service. The obscene, sloppy sounds filled the silent room, a raw counterpoint to the ordered cityscape beyond the glass.
“Good,” Yujiro breathed, his hips beginning a subtle, involuntary thrust upward into that wet heat. “That filthy mouth. Just like that.”
Baki worked him with a dedicated intensity, his eyes glazed, focused solely on the task. This was his offering. This wet, messy act of devotion. He reached up to cup Yujiro’s heavy balls, rolling them gently in his palm, feeling them draw up tight.
Just as Yujiro’s breathing grew ragged, his thrusts more urgent, Baki pulled off with a final, slick sound.
Yujiro’s eyes snapped open, a flash of fury in them at the denial. “What—”
“Not yet,” Baki said, his voice ragged from use. He shifted his position, moving lower on the floor. He pushed Yujiro’s legs further apart, his hands on the powerful thighs. Then he bent forward, putting his face between his father’s spread ass cheeks.
Yujiro tensed, a low, surprised noise escaping him. This was new territory. Baki didn’t pause. He used his thumbs to part the muscled globes, exposing the tight, furled pucker beneath. He leaned in and licked, a broad, flat stripe from perineum to tailbone.
“Fuck,” Yujiro exhaled, the word a shudder.
Baki dove in. He ate Yujiro’s ass with the same sloppy, relentless enthusiasm he’d used on his cock. His tongue pressed and probed, fucking into the tightness with short, insistent strokes. He rimmed the clenching muscle in circles, then speared deep again, his nose buried against him. He made it wet, messy, and loud, his own grunts of effort mixing with Yujiro’s increasingly broken sounds.
Yujiro’s body, a fortress that had never known surrender, was betraying him. His thighs trembled. His back arched off the chair. His fist in Baki’s hair was a white-knuckled anchor, pulling him closer, grinding his face deeper into that intimate space. Guttural moans were torn from his chest, sounds Baki had never heard outside of combat—raw, unfiltered pleasure.
“You—ah—fucking devil,” Yujiro choked out, his hips rocking against the relentless tongue. “Right there. Don’t you fucking stop.”
Baki didn’t. He worshipped him there, in that most forbidden place, with a filthy, grateful tongue. He felt the muscle flutter and spasm under his ministrations, felt Yujiro’s entire body coil like a spring.
When Yujiro roughly hauled him up by the hair, Baki went easily, his face glistening with spit and pre-cum and his own dedication. Yujiro’s cock, purpled and raging, slapped against Baki’s cheek.
“Now,” Yujiro commanded, his voice a wrecked, hoarse thing. He guided his cock back to Baki’s waiting, open mouth. “Finish it. Swallow every drop.”
Baki took him back in, deeper than before, his throat opening wide. Yujiro fucked up into it, losing the last shreds of control. His thrusts were brutal, short, and desperate, pistoning into Baki’s throat. Baki relaxed, took it, his eyes watering, his own hands gripping Yujiro’s thighs for balance.
“Gonna cum,” Yujiro warned, a ragged snarl. “Take it! Take my fucking cum!”
With a roar that seemed to shake the very windows, Yujiro slammed up one final time, hilting himself completely. Baki felt the hot, violent pulse at the back of his throat. Jet after thick jet of cum flooded his mouth, a salty, bitter torrent. Yujiro moaned, a continuous, shuddering sound of absolute release, his body rigid, his fist clenched impossibly tight in Baki’s hair, holding him down.
Baki swallowed convulsively, gulping down the hot essence, not letting a drop escape. He sucked and swallowed until the pulses subsided, until Yujiro’s cock softened slightly in his spent aftermath. Only then did Yujiro’s grip loosen, letting him pull off with a soft, exhausted gasp.
Baki knelt back, breathing heavily, cum and spit on his lips. Yujiro slumped in the chair, his chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering his monumental form. For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing merging with the city’s hum.
Yujiro’s hand, which had been fisted in Baki’s hair, rose slowly. It didn’t strike. It came to rest, heavy and almost gentle, on the top of Baki’s head. A silent acknowledgment hung in the air between them, thicker than the scent of sex, more profound than any victory in the ring.