Chapter 6: A Lesson in Choice
The afternoon sun painted long, lazy rectangles across the main room’s worn floorboards. Fuu Jin sat before the low table, the bag of sweet daifuku Minato had brought sitting unopened between them. The memory of the previous day was a live wire under his skin—the deep, thorough fullness, the shocking climax, the words of validation. He had made a choice. The thought still carried a fragile, thrilling warmth.
Minato sat closer than was strictly proper, his presence calm and immense. He’d been talking, his voice a soft, pleasant rumble about the burdens of leadership, about seeing people stuck in roles they never chose. His knee brushed against Fuu Jin’s thigh, a casual, persistent contact.
“...and sometimes,” Minato said, his blue eyes fixed on Fuu Jin’s, “the most powerful act of reclamation isn’t saying no to one thing. It’s saying yes to something else. Something entirely new. A first that belongs only to you.”
Fuu Jin nodded, barely breathing. The air felt thick, sweet with the scent of red bean paste from the unopened sweets.
Minato’s gaze dropped to Fuu Jin’s lips, then back up. His smile was gentle, curious. “Has Kakashi ever had you kneel for him?”
The question was so blunt it stole the air from Fuu Jin’s lungs. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. He shook his head, once. His voice was a whisper. “No. He… doesn’t like to.” He just takes what he wants from behind, where he doesn’t have to see my face, he didn’t say.
“I see,” Minato murmured. He leaned forward, his hand coming to rest on Fuu Jin’s knee, his thumb stroking the inner seam of his trousers. The touch was electrifying. “Then that’s a perfect choice. A first. Something you give, not something taken. An experience he hasn’t marked.” His eyes were dark, intent. “Would you like to try?”
The word ‘choice’ echoed. It was a key Minato had given him, and now he was presenting a lock. Fuu Jin’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was agency. This was claiming his body. He nodded again, a stiff, nervous jerk of his chin.
“Good,” Minato said, his voice warm with approval. He gave Fuu Jin’s knee a soft squeeze. “Come here. On your knees.”
Fuu Jin moved robotically, sliding off the cushion onto the polished floor. The wood was cool and hard beneath his knees. Minato shifted on the cushion, looming above him. The difference in position was instantly, profoundly humbling. Fuu Jin kept his eyes lowered, fixed on the textured fabric of Minato’s pants.
He heard the soft rasp of a zipper. His stomach clenched. Minato guided his own cock out, already thick and heavy, flushing darker as it filled with blood. It lay against his thigh, massive, the veins standing in stark relief. The head was a smooth, broad dome, beading with a drop of clear moisture.
“Look at it,” Minato instructed softly. “It’s yours to explore. No hurry.”
Fuu Jin stared. He had never been this close to one, not even Sakumo’s. Sakumo had been loving, but traditional. This was clinical and obscene. The sheer size was daunting. The musk of clean skin and salt filled his nostrils.
“Touch it,” Minato said.
Fuu Jin reached out a trembling hand, his fingers brushing the heated skin. It was like velvet over steel. He wrapped his hand around the shaft, his fingers not meeting. A low groan came from above him. The sound went straight to Fuu Jin’s gut.
“Your hand feels so good,” Minato breathed. “But your mouth… that’s the choice. I want to feel your mouth on me. Can you do that?”
Fuu Jin nodded, dazed. He leaned forward, his black hair falling into his eyes. He opened his mouth, pressed his lips tentatively against the slick tip. The taste was saline, clean, overwhelmingly male. He flicked his tongue, tasting the bead of pre-come.
Minato’s hand came to rest on the back of his head, not pushing, just present. “That’s it. Now take the head in. Just let it sit on your tongue.”
Fuu Jin complied, opening wider, allowing the broad crest to push past his lips. It filled his mouth, a heavy, alien weight on his tongue. He felt his jaw begin to ache.
“Deeper,” Minato coaxed, his voice husky. “Try to take more. Let your throat open for me.”
Fuu Jin tried to breathe through his nose as he leaned forward, letting the thickness press back into his mouth. He gagged immediately, a sharp, involuntary contraction that forced him back, saliva stringing from his lips.
“Shhh, it’s alright,” Minato soothed, his fingers stroking his hair. “Your body needs to learn. Try again. Slowly. Let it happen.”
Tears of reflex pooled in Fuu Jin’s eyes. He tried again, focusing on relaxing his throat as the insistent pressure returned. He got further this time before the gag reflex seized him, more violent, wrenching a choked sound from him.
“Good,” Minato murmured, his tone one of pure fascination. “So good. You’re trying so hard. Now, let me help.”
The hand on his head flexed, not yanking, but applying firm, undeniable pressure. Fuu Jin’s eyes flew open, wide with sudden panic, but Minato was smiling down at him, his expression one of beatific encouragement. “Trust me. Just let go. Take your gift.”
The pressure increased, guiding him down. Fuu Jin resisted for a second, his throat locking in protest, then surrendered. The thick crown pushed past the tight ring of his throat. The sensation was one of pure, shocking violation—a fullness in a place never meant to be filled. He gagged violently, his body convulsing, tears streaming down his cheeks. Spit dripped from his stretched lips onto his chin, onto Minato’s balls.
Minato held him there, impaled, his cockhead lodged deep in Fuu Jin’s esophagus. He groaned, a long, shuddering sound of pleasure. “Fuck. Look at you. Your throat is hugging me so tight. You’re choking on my cock and you chose it. That’s so beautiful.”
He began to move, pulling back until just the tip remained on Fuu Jin’s tongue, then sliding back down that torturous, tight path. The rhythm was slow, obscenely deliberate. Each inward thrust forced a wet, gagging hiccup from Fuu Jin. His vision spotted. Drool soaked the front of his yukata. He clawed weakly at Minato’s thighs, not to push away, but to anchor himself in the drowning sensation.
“You’re doing so well,” Minato praised, his breath coming faster. His hips began to pump with more insistence, fucking into the wet, constricting heat of Fuu Jin’s throat. The slick, vulgar sounds of penetration filled the quiet room. “Such a perfect mouth. Made for this. Taking me so deep you can’t even breathe.”
It was true. Fuu Jin’s world narrowed to the brutal stretch of his throat, the salt-bitter taste, the tears blurring his vision, and the overwhelming, perverse approval radiating from the man above him. His own cock was a hard, leaking ache trapped in his trousers. A strange, disembodied pleasure coiled in his stomach, syncing with each ragged gag.
Minato’s composure began to fracture. His thrusts lost their measured pace, becoming sharper, harder. He was using Fuu Jin’s throat in earnest now, a living, wet sleeve for his building orgasm. His fingers tightened in Fuu Jin’s hair. “Gonna come. Gonna fill that pretty throat. You’re going to swallow every drop. That’s your choice, too.”
He slammed in one final time, hilting himself, and held Fuu Jin’s nose pinched shut with his free hand. Fuu Jin’s body jerked, desperate for air, as Minato’s cock pulsed violently, jet after hot, bitter jet of semen flooding directly into his stomach. The violation was absolute, a claiming that bypassed all pretense.
Minato released his nose, letting him gasp and cough as he withdrew, his spent cock sliding out with a slick pop. Fuu Jin collapsed forward onto his hands, coughing violently, strings of saliva and semen dripping from his ruined mouth onto the floor. He drew in huge, ragged breaths that burned his abused throat.
A moment later, Minato was on the floor beside him, pulling him into his lap, cradling him. He wiped Fuu Jin’s tear-streaked face with a gentle handkerchief, cleaning the mess from his chin. “You were amazing,” he whispered, kissing his temple. “So brave. You took all of me. You made that choice for yourself.” He held Fuu Jin until the coughing subsided into shaky breaths.
When Fuu Jin could finally sit up, his throat felt raw, his lips swollen. Minato handed him a cup of water, which he sipped gingerly.
Minato handed him a cup of water, which he sipped gingerly. The cool liquid was a balm on his raw throat, a stark contrast to the searing heat that had just filled it. He kept his eyes lowered, focused on the tremors in his own hands.
“Look at me,” Minato said, his voice soft but unyielding.
Fuu Jin lifted his gaze. Minato’s face was close, his expression one of focused concern. The usual brilliant warmth in his blue eyes was tempered now, shaded with a predatory curiosity he made no effort to hide.
“How did that feel?” Minato asked, his thumb stroking the hinge of Fuu Jin’s jaw. “Was it too much? Tell me the truth.”
Fuu Jin’s mind replayed the brutal stretch, the helpless gagging, the tears. Then it replayed the praise, the profound sense of having performed something difficult and uniquely for himself. It wasn’t Kakashi’s rough, silent taking in the kitchen. This was a transaction he had entered, a gift he had given, and the approval he had received was a drug.
“It was…” Fuu Jin began, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, wincing. “A lot.” He searched Minato’s calm eyes, finding no judgment, only waiting interest. “But I… I liked it. I liked having your cock in my mouth.” He felt the truth of the statement settle in his stomach, warm and heavy. “It felt like the right choice.”
Minato’s brilliant smile broke then, transforming his face into something radiant and victorious. It wasn’t Kakashi’s smirk of possession; this was the smile of a man who had just been given a coveted prize. “Good,” he said, the word rich with satisfaction. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”
He reached for the bag of daifuku, unwrapping one of the soft, powdered mochi sweets. He brought it to Fuu Jin’s lips. “Here. Something sweet for your sweet mouth.”
Fuu Jin took a bite. The overwhelming flavor of sweet red bean paste flooded his senses, coating his tongue, desperately trying to mask the lingering, musky bitterness of Minato’s come that still clung to the back of his throat. He swallowed, and the clash of sensations—cloying sugar versus biological salt—was dizzying.
“Good?” Minato asked, watching him intently.
Fuu Jin nodded, taking another bite. “Very.”
Minato leaned in and kissed him, his tongue sweeping into his mouth to steal a taste of the sweetness for himself. He pulled back with a soft laugh. “Even better this way.” The casual theft, the shared flavor, felt unexpectedly light. Normal.
They sat there for a long while, the afternoon light deepening. Fuu Jin found himself talking—really talking—about the compounds he grew for tea, about a scroll on herbology Sakumo had given him. Minato listened, adding insights about chakra-infused botany, his questions intelligent and engaged. Fuu Jin teased him about his notorious sweet tooth, and Minato laughed, a real, unfettered sound that echoed pleasantly in the quiet room.
It felt easy. For the first time in years, Fuu Jin felt like a person, not a ghost or a belonging. He felt like himself.
When his stomach rumbled, he rose to make lunch. Minato followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Fuu Jin moved with practiced grace, simmering dashi, slicing vegetables. “You’re incredible at this,” Minato said, watching his hands. “It’s like a dance. Sakumo never ate this well, I bet.”
The mention of Sakumo didn’t spear through him as it usually did. It felt like a fact, not a wound. “He preferred simpler things,” Fuu Jin said, concentrating on the knife’s rhythm.
The meal was simple but perfect. Minato ate with genuine, vocal pleasure. “This is the best miso soup I’ve ever had,” he declared, and Fuu Jin felt a blush heat his cheeks, a pleased smile touching his lips. Minato’s gaze kept drifting to those lips, still noticeably swollen and red from their earlier use. The knowledge of what caused it—the specific, brutal friction—hung in the air between them, a secret that made the ordinary act of sharing a meal feel charged and illicit.
Finally, Minato stood to leave. At the front door, he didn’t just accept a goodbye kiss; he initiated one that was deep and lingering, walking Fuu Jin backward until his shoulders met the wall. His body was a solid, warm line against him, and Fuu Jin’s hands lifted of their own accord, tangling in the golden hair at the nape of Minato’s neck. The kiss tasted of green tea and shared sweetness and lingering desire.
Minato pulled back, his breath fanning over Fuu Jin’s wet lips. “I have to go. Council meetings.” He brushed a thumb over Fuu Jin’s bottom lip, his eyes dark. “Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”
The question hung there. Coming back meant more than conversation. It meant a continuation of this new, terrifying axis his life had just tilted onto. Fuu Jin thought of the empty, silent compound, of Kakashi’s intense, grieving eyes, of the hollow place inside him that, for one afternoon, hadn’t felt hollow at all.
“Yes,” Fuu Jin said, the word leaving him in a soft exhale. “Please come back.”