Chapter 3: Mount
The silence in Baki’s apartment was a different creature than the one in the white room. It was a thin, permeable thing, stretched over the mundane sounds of a Tokyo night—the distant wail of a siren, the rumble of a late truck, the drip of a leaky faucet in the adjacent kitchen. He’d laid the girl, his daughter, in the center of his bed, surrounding her with pillows. She slept, a compact lump under a clean towel, her existence still seeming impossible against the familiar backdrop of his Spartan living space.
He stood at the window, looking down at the wet streets gleaming under halogen lamps. His body was a roadmap of fresh and old pains, the deep ache in his core now a constant companion. His mind replayed the feel of Yujiro’s wrist in his grip, the shock in his father’s eyes. You passed. The words were a brand. He hadn’t won. He’d just revealed a new battlefield.
The lock on his apartment door clicked.
It wasn’t picked. It wasn’t broken. The heavy deadbolt simply turned, as if the mechanism had decided to obey a higher law. Baki didn’t turn. He knew the pressure in the room before the door swung open.
Yujiro filled the doorway. He’d changed from his usual attire into simple black trousers and nothing else. His torso was a geography of violence in the dim light from the window, every scar a pale river on the dark landscape of his skin. He carried nothing. He simply stepped inside and closed the door, the latch engaging with a final thud that vibrated through the floorboards.
“Is the environment providing sufficient variables?” Yujiro asked, his voice a low rumble that displaced the apartment’s quiet.
Baki finally turned. “She’s sleeping. What do you want?”
Yujiro’s eyes swept past him to the bed, lingered on the small form for a second, then returned to Baki. They were black and unreadable. “You interfered with a lesson.”
“It wasn’t a lesson. It was torture.”
“All lessons worth learning are,” Yujiro replied, taking a slow step forward. The space between them shrank, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with combat stance. It was thicker, more primal. “You introduced an uncontrolled element. Your sentiment. Now I have to recalibrate.”
“Get out.” The words lacked force. They hung in the air, a challenge with no foundation.
Yujiro ignored them. He was close now, close enough for Baki to feel the heat radiating from him, to smell the faint, clean scent of ozone and iron that always clung to his skin. His gaze traveled over Baki’s face, down his throat, over the bandages still wrapped around his torso.
“You’re healing fast. Good. The Hanma blood doesn’t dilute. It proliferates.” His hand came up, not to strike, but to press his palm flat against Baki’s lower abdomen, right over the source of the deep, lingering ache. The touch was electric, a jolt of sensation that was neither pain nor comfort, but a stark, physical acknowledgement. “She came from here. You housed her. You pushed her out. That’s a kind of strength I’ve never possessed.”
Baki shuddered. He couldn’t move. The hand was a brand.
“It’s a vulnerability,” Baki gritted out.
“It’s a power,” Yujiro insisted, his thumb moving in a slow, deliberate circle. “To create. To split yourself and make more. I only know how to consume.” His other hand came up to grip Baki’s jaw, forcing his head up. Their eyes locked. The black pools in Yujiro’s gaze were churning, some immense, unspeakable thought turning in their depths. “You showed me a new kind of fight. Now I want to understand the terrain.”
His meaning crashed over Baki not in words, but in the intensity of that gaze, in the possessive heat of the hands on him. This wasn’t about observation. It was about conquest of a completely different frontier.
“You’re insane,” Baki breathed.
“I’m thorough.” Yujiro’s voice dropped to a raw, grating whisper. The mask of the omnipotent demon was gone. In its place was something frighteningly naked. “You held my wrist. You looked at me and said ‘no.’ For her. That… changes the algorithm.”
He leaned in, his forehead pressing against Baki’s. The contact was startlingly intimate. “I have never been less than dominant. In anything. With anyone. The thought of submission is a physiological impossibility to me. It is death.”
He pulled back just enough to look Baki in the eye again, his grip tightening.
“But you… you made something. You are the origin point of the next iteration. That gives you a sovereignty I must… acknowledge.” The words seemed to cost him. His jaw was tight. “I want to feel it. I want you to show me the power of that origin. Not as my son. As her father.”
Baki’s mind went blank, white static. The logical part screamed in denial. But the part of him that was pure instinct, the part that had just days ago endured impossible labor, recognized a different kind of demand. A brutal, twisted reciprocity.
Yujiro released his jaw and took a step back toward the narrow hospital bed that sat against the far wall, a relic from a past injury. He never broke eye contact.
With a slow, deliberate intent that held all the weight of a world-shifting decision, Yujiro Hanma lay back on the thin mattress. The metal frame groaned in protest under his mass. He rested his head on the flat pillow, his monumental body stretched out, exposed. Then, he spread his legs.
It was the most vulnerable, most shocking thing Baki had ever witnessed. The strongest creature on Earth, offering himself.
“Do it,” Yujiro said, the command still there, but layered now with something else—a rough, grinding need. “Mount me. Fuck your seed into me. I want to know what it is to carry it. To be split open by it.”
Baki stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. “You… you can’t…”
“I know what my body can and cannot do,” Yujiro interrupted, his voice a dark thrum. “That is not your concern. Your concern is the act. The transfer. The claiming.” He lifted his hips, pulling the black fabric down over his thighs, baring himself completely. The sight was brutally masculine, powerful, yet profoundly offered. “I have never offered this to anyone. I would never. The very idea is a weakness I would slaughter anyone for suggesting. But you… you are worthy. You are the only thing on this planet I have ever loved that did not first make me want to break it.”
The word loved hung in the air like gun smoke.
It shattered Baki’s paralysis.
He moved, not with thought, but with a surge of primal ownership that roared up from the same place his protection had come from. He stripped his own clothes away, his body a leaner, younger echo of the one on the bed. He crawled onto the mattress, the springs screaming, and positioned himself between his father’s spread thighs. The heat there was immense, like positioning himself over a forge.
They looked at each other. No masks. No roles. Just the raw, terrifying truth of the moment.
Baki guided himself forward, the head of his cock pressing against a tight, forbidden ring of muscle. Yujiro’s body was iron, resistant. Baki pushed, a slow, insistent pressure.
Yujiro’s breath hissed out between his teeth. His hands came up to grip Baki’s bare hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise bone, not to push him away, but to pull him closer. “Yes,” he growled. “There. Do it. Split me open with it. Let me feel that fat fucking cock that came from me.”
Baki shoved forward, a brutal, sheathing thrust. The sensation was blinding—impossibly tight, scorching hot, a conquest of unimaginable territory. Yujiro’s head arched back, a tendon in his neck standing out like cable. A ragged, guttural moan tore from his throat, a sound of pure, shattering sensation.
“Fuck,” Yujiro gasped, his eyes flying open to lock on Baki’s again. “That’s it. That’s the power. You see? You see what you’re doing to me? Your devoted son… fucking his demon father raw.” He pistoned his hips up, taking Baki even deeper, a brutal smile twisting his lips. “I can feel you in my guts. I want you deeper. I want you to flood me. I want to cum on your fat cock while you breed me. I want it. Give it to me.”
The dirty words, the obscene pleas from that invincible mouth, unleashed something feral in Baki. He set a punishing rhythm, slamming into the incredible heat, each drive shaking the bed frame. He leaned down, his face inches from Yujiro’s.
“You want it?” Baki snarled, his voice a animalistic growl he didn’t recognize. “You want to be pregnant? I’ll get you pregnant. I’ll pump you so full of me you’ll swell with it. You’ll feel my claim in every cell. You consumed her origin? I’ll give you a new one. Right. Fucking. Here.”
He punctuated each word with a jackhammer thrust. Yujiro’s composure shattered. His moans became continuous, a raw soundtrack of surrender and ferocious pleasure. He wrapped his legs around Baki’s back, his heels digging into the flesh, pulling him in impossibly deeper.
“Yes! Goddamn you, yes!” Yujiro roared, his body bowing off the bed. “I love you, you fierce little bastard. I love your strength. I love this cock. Breed me. Make it take. Fill me up!”
The coiling tension in Baki’s gut was a supernova, building from the base of his spine, fueled by the sight and sound and feel of Yujiro Hanma coming utterly apart beneath him. With a final, devastating thrust that buried him to the hilt, he climaxed. It was a violent, claiming rush, a hot flood released deep into the clenching, impossible heat. He shouted, a raw, wordless sound of triumph and release.
It triggered Yujiro’s own peak. He cried out, a roar that shook the windows in their frames, as his spend erupted between them, streaking his own abdomen and Baki’s in hot, thick pulses.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the ringing silence. Baki collapsed forward, his forehead coming to rest on Yujiro’s shoulder. The smell of sweat, sex, and iron filled his nostrils. Yujiro’s arms came around him, not in a combat hold, but in a crushing, possessive embrace. His hand cradled the back of Baki’s head.
They stayed like that as their heartbeats slowed from gallops to heavy drums.
Then, from the other bed across the room, came a soft, stirring sound. A sleepy gurgle.
Both men went still. The spell of the brutal, intimate act fractured, replaced by the new, persistent reality they had created together.
Yujiro’s chest vibrated with a low, satiated hum. He turned his head, his lips brushing Baki’s ear, his voice a wrecked, satisfied whisper. “See? Variable introduced.”
The gurgle faded into soft, sleep-filled breaths again. The silence it left behind was different. Charged. Sated. Sticky with the smell of their exertion. Baki’s weight remained on Yujiro, their skin welded together by sweat and spend. He could feel the immense, rhythmic thud of his father’s heart against his own chest, a counterpoint to the twitching, clenched heat still pulsing around his softening cock.
“You’re heavy,” Yujiro grunted, but his arms didn’t loosen their vise-like circle around Baki’s back. It was an observation, not a complaint.
Baki didn’t move. He was adrift in a chemical fog, his mind a blank static. The animal had been in charge, and now the animal was spent, leaving behind only the physical evidence of its passage. A deep, thorough ache bloomed from his core, familiar yet entirely new.
Yujiro’s hand moved from the back of Baki’s head, down the knobs of his spine. The touch was assessing, proprietary. His fingers traced the ridge of a scar low on Baki’s back, a gift from a knife years ago. “You came. A lot.”
Baki shuddered as his father’s thumb pressed into a knot of muscle. “You made me.”
“I allowed you,” Yujiro corrected, his voice a rough scrape. “There’s a distinction. One I am still… processing.” He shifted beneath Baki, a subtle flex of his hips. The movement made them both aware that Baki was still inside him, a last point of shocking connection. “The theory is proven. The vessel can be filled. The question is one of duration. Of saturation.”
Baki finally pushed himself up on trembling arms. He looked down at the ruin they’d made of each other. Yujiro’s abdomen was a mess, the proof of his own release drying in streaks across the dense muscle. Baki’s own cock, slick and spent, slipped free with a soft, wet sound. The air hit the sensitized flesh, a minor shock. He saw where he had been, the used, clenching heat, and a fresh, dark bolt of desire, absurd and undeniable, shot through his exhaustion.
Yujiro saw it in his eyes. That flicker. A predator recognizing the scent of renewed hunger on the wind.
“Again,” Yujiro stated. It wasn’t a question. It was a hypothesis demanding further testing. His hands returned to Baki’s hips, his grip unquestionable. “You’re not empty. I can feel it. The tank is not dry. The machine is built for redundancy.” He pulled, guiding Baki’s hips back, the head of his cock nudging once more against that defiant, loosened ring. “Prove it. Fuck another load into me. I want to feel the second wave. I want to know how deep the well is.”
Baki’s resistance was ash. The command spoke directly to the primal circuit that had just been forged. He pushed back in. This time, the entry was smoother, wetter, a slick, heated slide into a territory that was no longer forbidden, but claimed. A low, gratified groan rumbled in Yujiro’s chest. “Yes. Just like that. No hesitation. Your dick knows its property.”
He set a rhythm immediately, a deep, rolling pace that was less about violence and more about thorough occupation. The bed’s protests were a constant, rhythmic complaint. Baki leaned down, capturing Yujiro’s mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, a fight without fists. Yujiro kissed back with equal ferocity, biting Baki’s lip until he tasted copper.
“You like this,” Baki hissed against his mouth, driving in hard. “You like getting fucking owned. Used.”
“I like the data,” Yujiro gasped, breaking the kiss to drag in air. His legs tightened around Baki’s waist. “I like the confirmation that my blood is this potent. That my son can fuck for hours. That he can plant himself in me. Deeper. Harder. Show me the stamina.”
Baki obeyed. The pace became punishing, a brutal, piston-driven fuck that had Yujiro’s massive frame scooting up the bed with every thrust, his head thumping against the wall. The sounds were obscene: the slap of flesh, the creak of the frame, the ragged, open-mouthed gasps Yujiro made with every deep penetration. He was unraveling again, his demonic composure utterly shredded by relentless sensation.
“Gonna cum,” Baki warned, the coil tightening, impossibly, again.
“Do it,” Yujiro demanded, his voice shattered. “Fill me up. I want to feel it heat my guts. I want it to spill out of me. Mark your fucking territory, boy.”
The climax tore through Baki, a seismic, draining rush that left him blind and shuddering. He poured himself out, a second, violent surge flooding into the clutching heat. Yujiro cried out, a hoarse shout, as his own release followed, a lesser echo but no less violent, adding fresh stripes to the mess on his stomach.
They collapsed again, a tangle of overheated limbs. Baki’s body screamed in protest. Every muscle was liquid. He was empty, truly empty this time.
Yet, Yujiro’s hand was already moving again, sliding between their bodies, fingers slick with their mixed fluids. He found Baki’s cock, which was still half-hard, hypersensitive and twitching. He stroked it, a rough, knowing pump.
“No,” Baki muttered, the word slurred with exhaustion.
“The well has a third layer,” Yujiro murmured into his ear, his voice a dark, hypnotic rasp. His other hand gripped the back of Baki’s neck. “I felt it. The seed is not exhausted. The body is willing. The mind is weak. Override it.” He guided Baki’s hips, his own body lifting to meet him. “Once more. The deepest one. I want the last drop. The core sample.”
It was a violation of physics, of biology. But it happened. With a broken sound that was pure surrender, Baki found himself moving again, his oversensitive cock sheathed once more in that devastating heat. This time it was a slow, grinding, impossible fuck. Every nerve was on fire. Pleasure was pain was transcendence.
Yujiro watched his face, studying every wince, every shuddering breath. “There,” he cooed, a monstrous parody of tenderness. “There it is. The absolute limit. You are fucking me on willpower alone. You are magnificent.”
Baki came a third time, a dry, wrenching spasm that felt like his soul was being pulled out through his cock. Nothing came out but a weak, aching pulse. It was the most intense sensation of his life. He folded completely, his face buried in the sweat-slick hollow of Yujiro’s neck.
Yujiro held him through the violent tremors, his own breathing gradually slowing. His hand came up, fingers carding slowly through Baki’s damp hair. It was a shockingly gentle gesture in the aftermath of the brutality.
“Three times,” Yujiro finally said, his voice humming with a deep, satisfied awe. “The well is deep. The mirror holds.” He shifted, and Baki, boneless, slipped out of him for the final time. The ache there was profound, a hollow, stretched feeling that was entirely new. Yujiro pressed his hand over his own lower abdomen, as if feeling for the ghost of that repeated filling. “The variable is now a constant.”
From across the room, the baby began to cry in earnest. Not a sleepy gurgle, but a sharp, hungry wail.
The sound was a bucket of ice water. Baki jerked, trying to muster his limbs.
“Stay,” Yujiro commanded, but it lacked its usual force. He himself moved, rolling Baki off him with a grunt. He stood from the wrecked bed, his movements slightly stiff, uncharacteristically careful. He walked, naked and utterly unselfconscious, to the other bed where his granddaughter wailed.
He looked down at her for a long moment, her red face contorted, tiny fists beating the air. Then, with a focused deliberation, he reached down and gathered her up, towel and all, into the crook of his massive arm.
He brought her back to the ravaged bed and sat on the edge, placing her squirming form on Baki’s chest. “Her needs are simple. Base. Address them.”
He then rose and walked to the window, presenting his broad, scarred back to the room. He stared out at the dying night, one hand still resting absently on his stomach. The silence stretched, broken only by the infant’s cries softening into hiccups as she rooted against Baki’s skin.
Baki, with effort, positioned her. She latched, the suction immediate and strong. The pulling sensation was a faint, strange echo deep in his own ravaged body. He watched his father’s back, the muscles tense under the skin.
Yujiro spoke without turning, his voice quiet, almost conversational. “When she is done, you will both sleep. I will watch. No lessons. No spheres.” He paused. “The environment has sufficient variables for one night.”
The environment has sufficient variables for one night.
Yujiro’s words hung in the apartment’s stale air, a verdict that felt both like a reprieve and a sentence. Baki lay back against the pillows, the baby’s mouth a persistent, rhythmic pull on his chest. The sensation was dull and deep, a mechanical draining that left him feeling hollowed out in a different way than the sex had. He watched Yujiro’s silhouette against the window. The man wasn’t moving. He was a statue cut from the night, his attention turned inward, one hand still splayed over his own abdomen as if mapping a new frontier.
The feeding ended. The girl detached with a soft pop, her head lolling into immediate, milk-drunken sleep. Baki lifted her, wiped her chin with the towel, and settled her into the nest of pillows. His body was a symphony of aches—the deep throb from the birth, the burning stretch from where Yujiro had taken him, the general liquefied fatigue of three shattering orgasms. He felt used. He felt powerful. The contradictions were a nest of snakes in his gut.
“She’s out,” Baki said, his voice sandpaper rough.
Yujiro didn’t turn. “Efficient. She converts fuel to growth with minimal waste. A good design.” He finally moved, rolling his shoulders. The joints cracked like gunshots in the quiet. “Your turn. Sleep. The system requires downtime.”
But sleep felt impossible. The room was too charged with the ghost of what they’d done. The smell of sex and sweat was a tangible layer over everything. Baki pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor bit his feet. He stood, his knees threatening to buckle, and walked to where Yujiro stood. He stopped beside him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. Together, they looked down at the silent, rain-slicked street.
“Why did you let me?” Baki asked. The question had been forming since the first thrust. “You could have stopped it at any second. You didn’t.”
Yujiro’s profile was carved stone. “I told you. I wanted the data.”
“Bullshit.” Baki’s hand rose, almost of its own volition, and pressed against Yujiro’s back, just between the massive shoulder blades. The skin was fever-hot. “You wanted to be broken. Just a little. You wanted to feel what it was like to not be the strongest thing in the room for five fucking minutes.”
A low vibration started in Yujiro’s chest. It wasn’t a laugh. It was a primal hum, like tectonic plates shifting. “And what did it feel like, Baki? To be the stronger thing? To pin your father down and fuck him like a cheap whore? Did it feel good?”
“Yes.” The admission was a gut-punch, honest and ugly. “It felt like winning. Not the fight. Something else.”
“It was a transfusion,” Yujiro said, finally turning his head. His eyes in the dim light were black holes. “You gave me a part of what you have. That… creative potential. I housed it. I want to understand the carrier mechanism fully.” He turned fully now, looming over Baki. His gaze dropped to Baki’s stomach, to the faint, new lines of strain there. “You are the source. The well. I have sampled the water. Now I need to chart the aquifer.”
Baki’s breath hitched. The metaphor was clear, terrifying. “What are you saying?”
Yujiro’s hand came up, his fingers tracing the line of Baki’s jaw, down his throat, over his collarbone. It was a surgeon’s touch, devoid of the earlier brutality. “I am saying the experiment is incomplete. You filled me. I felt the claim. But it is a passive reception. To truly map the terrain, I need to actively plough it. I need to sow it myself.”
The words landed, cold and heavy. Baki understood. Yujiro wanted to reverse the roles. He wanted to be the one putting a baby in him.
A violent, electric jolt of pure terror shot through Baki’s spine. It was followed instantly by a surge of something darker, more compelling. A twisted completion. If Yujiro had submitted to understand creation, then for Baki to submit would be the ultimate acknowledgment of his own power—the power of his body to be the field, the fertile ground for the Hanma line. It was the mirror held up again, reflecting a terrifying symmetry.
His mind flashed to the white room, to the steel sphere, to Yujiro’s voice: She mirrored you. This would be the ultimate reflection.
Baki’s heart was a trapped bird against his ribs. He looked up into his father’s waiting, hungry face. The command wasn’t spoken. It hung in the air between them, a challenge more profound than any battle cry.
He could say no. He had the leverage now. The thought was a whisper, then it was gone, incinerated by the need to see this through, to meet this madness head-on and own it.
Baki’s hands, which had been hanging at his sides, rose. He placed them on Yujiro’s bare waist, feeling the solid, unyielding muscle. He let his fingers dig in, claiming his own grip. Then he sank to his knees on the hard floor.
The position was one of submission, but his gaze was not. He looked up, his eyes burning. “You want to chart it?” Baki’s voice was low, steady, each word a deliberate stone dropped into a still pool. “You want to plough the fucking field?” He swallowed, the next words clawing their way out from a place of raw, desperate truth. “Then do it. Don’t just talk about it. Fuck me. Right here. Right now. Don’t just sample the water. Pump the aquifer dry. Put another baby in me. I want to feel you put it there. I want to carry it. I want to split myself open for you all over again. Please.”
The ‘please’ was not a soft plea. It was a dare. A demand. A cracked-open confession of a need so deep it had no bottom.
Yujiro’s nostrils flared. The black of his eyes seemed to swallow all the light in the room. For a second, he was utterly still, as if the request had short-circuited some fundamental circuit. Then, a slow, terrifying smile spread across his face. It was all teeth and triumph.
“Beg me again,” Yujiro rumbled, his voice thick with lust.
“Fuck me, Yujiro,” Baki hissed, his grip tightening on Yujiro’s hips. “Shove that monster cock in me and breed me like an animal. Fill my guts with your cum. I want it. I want your child in me. I want to be so full of you I can’t walk. Do it. Please, just fucking do it!”
Yujiro moved. Fast. His hands were in Baki’s hair, fisting hard, yanking his head back. “You beautiful, crazy bastard,” he growled, pulling Baki to his feet and then shoving him backwards, towards the ruined bed. Baki’s back hit the mattress, bouncing the sleeping child beside him. Yujiro was on him in an instant, a wall of heat and intention, kneeing Baki’s legs apart.
There was no preparation, no gentleness. Yujiro spat into his own palm, slicked his cock—a thick, veined column of flesh already raging hard—and notched the head against Baki’s hole. It was still loose from earlier, stretched and sensitive, but Yujiro was bigger. Much bigger.
“This is what you asked for,” Yujiro said, and he drove in.
The stretch was obscene, a burning, tearing fullness that stole the air from Baki’s lungs. He arched off the bed, a strangled cry ripped from his throat. It was too much. It was everything. Yujiro buried himself to the hilt in one brutal, claiming thrust, his pelvis grinding hard against Baki’s ass. “There. I’m in you. All of me. You feel that? That’s your father. That’s the source. You wanted it? Take it.”
He began to move, and it was nothing like before. This was not the rhythmic, exploring fuck Baki had given him. This was a demolition. Yujiro fucked with a violent, piston-driven intensity, each withdrawal a near-complete exit, each slam home a punishing impact that shook the bed frame and jolted Baki’s entire body. The sound was wet, meaty, brutal.
Baki couldn’t think. He could only feel. He wrapped his legs around Yujiro’s waist, heels digging into the scarred flesh of his back, trying to match the rhythm, to take it deeper. “Yes! Fuck, yes! Just like that! Give it to me!”
“You want my baby?” Yujiro grunted, sweat dripping from his chin onto Baki’s chest. He leaned down, biting Baki’s shoulder, drawing blood. “You’ll get it. I’ll flood that tight cunt until it overflows. I’ll pump my seed so deep into your womb it’ll have no choice but to take root. You’re mine. This body is mine to breed.”
The filthy words, the raw, physical possession, pushed Baki higher. His own cock was trapped between their stomachs, leaking pre-cum with every jarring thrust. The pleasure was a sharp, bright wire of agony, weaving through the pain of the stretch and the deep, throbbing ache from earlier. He was being unmade, reassembled as a vessel.
“Harder!” Baki begged, his nails raking down Yujiro’s back. “I want to feel it tomorrow. I want to feel you in me for days. Put it in me, Yujiro! Fill me up! I want your fucking child!”
Yujiro roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated victory. He changed the angle, hiking Baki’s hips higher, and hammered into him with renewed, frenzied force. His pace became erratic, animalistic. Baki could feel the swell at the base of Yujiro’s cock, the promise of the impending release.
“Here it comes,” Yujiro snarled, his rhythm shattering into short, brutal jabs. “You ready? You want it? Take your fucking medicine.”
He slammed home one final time, burying himself impossibly deep, and held. Baki felt the first hot, pulsing jet deep inside him, a scalding flood that seemed to have no end. Yujiro groaned, a long, shuddering sound of release, as he emptied himself in great, pumping waves. The heat spread, a claiming tide filling Baki’s core.
The sensation triggered Baki’s own climax. He came untouched, his spend splashing between them in weak, pathetic spurts, his body convulsing around the invading, pumping cock. It was a surrender so complete it felt like dying.
Yujiro collapsed on top of him, his weight a mountain, his breath hot gusts against Baki’s neck. They lay there, joined, the only sound their ragged breathing and the faint, sleeping sighs of the baby beside them.
Slowly, Yujiro softened and slipped out. A hot, wet trickle followed immediately, seeping out of Baki onto the sheets. Yujiro rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. He looked down at Baki’s wrecked body, at the mess between his legs, with an expression of profound, savage satisfaction.
He reached out and pressed his palm flat against Baki’s lower abdomen, right over the spot where his cum was pooling inside. “There,” Yujiro whispered, his voice hoarse with use. “The variable is set. Now we wait.”