Chapter 75 Episode 75: His Mother’s Blessings…

Kael’s POV

He is still on his knees in my mind long after I pull him up.

Even now, with both of us spent and half-dressed on the training mats, the image will not leave. Akira looking up at me with my cock stretching his mouth, eyes wet at the corners, lips shiny with spit, taking everything I gave him like he had been starving for it.

The way he moaned around the length. The way his free hand braced on my thigh like he needed the anchor. The soft, broken sounds he made when I called him baby and he only sucked harder. I can still feel the wet heat of his throat.

I can still see the exact moment he chose to drop to the floor for me without being asked.

The memory sits in my blood like a second pulse. I want to fuck him.

The want is so immediate and so total that it borders on violence. I want to roll him onto his back right here on these mats, spread the thighs that are still trembling from what I already did to him, and push into the tight heat my fingers just opened.

I want to watch his face while I take him the rest of the way. I want to hear whatever sound he makes when he feels me inside him for the first time.

I want to fuck him until the only word left in his mouth is my name, until the claim I have been building in every early-morning correction and every soft baby is written into his body so deeply he will never be able to pretend this was only training.

But I do not do it.

The decision costs me. My cock is still half-hard against his hip, sticky with both of us, and the empty space where my fingers were is a constant, aching reminder of how close I already am to having everything.

But we are not dating. We have not said the words. We have not defined the shape of this thing that has been growing between us since the night in his room, since the confession about the missions, since the three weeks of rewriting the way his body takes damage.

I will not take the last step while that definition is still missing. Not when the next step after that is the one I actually want him in my bed every night, my name on him, the future where he is already called Mrs. Vixar in the heat of an interrupted moment made real and permanent.

So I hold him instead.

Akira is quiet against my chest, face tucked into the curve of my throat, one hand resting over my heart like he is checking that it is still beating the same way.

His breathing has slowed. The fine tremors that ran through him when he came have eased into a soft, liquid weight. I can feel the drying mess of our release on his stomach and mine.

I can feel the residual heat between his legs where I opened him. Every part of it feeds the hunger I am choosing not to satisfy yet.

The protectiveness that rises is almost as strong as the lust.

He let me see him like that. Needy. Open. On his knees in a training annex with the door shut and no guarantee I would be careful with what he offered.

He trusted me with his mouth and then with the deeper vulnerability of letting my fingers inside him while I stroked us together.

The trust sits heavy in my chest. I will not repay it by pushing past the line he has not yet invited me across. I will repay it by doing this the way it deserves to be done.

That is when the plan forms, clean and certain.

I am going to ask his mother for her blessing.

Not as a formality. Not as theatre. As the first real step toward making this permanent. I will go to her properly. I will tell her that her son has become the centre of every future I can picture. I will ask for her permission to court him openly, to take him as mine in the way that matters, before I ever put the question to Akira himself.

She already fed him at her table. She already extracted his birth date and his opinions on tea and the story of why he chose the dagger. She looked at him the way a mother looks at someone she is prepared to claim. I will honour that. I will do this right.

The decision settles something restless in me.

I press a slow kiss to Akira’s hair and feel him shift closer in answer. The simple contact sends another wave of tenderness through me, sharp enough to sting.

I have never been a man who softens easily. I have never wanted the domestic weight of someone else’s life tangled permanently with mine the way I want it now.

But the sight of him on his knees, the way he said please without words, the way he came apart around my fingers while I held both of us; those things have rewritten the scale of what I am willing to claim.

I want him.

Not only the heat of his mouth or the tight clench of his body. I want the quiet mornings and the shared silences and the right to stand between him and whatever the system is preparing him for. I want the legal and social weight of it.

I want his mother’s blessing in my pocket when I finally ask him to be mine in every way that counts.

Akira makes a small sound against my throat. I tighten my arm around him and stroke my palm down the length of his spine, feeling the knobs of vertebrae and the residual dampness of sweat.

He is still soft and open from my fingers. The knowledge is a live wire under my skin. It would take so little to shift us, to line myself up and push into that heat while he is still pliant and sensitive. The image alone makes my cock twitch against him.

I breathe through it.

"You with me, baby?" I ask, my voice rough.

He nods against my neck. The word baby still lands on him like a claim he has decided to carry. I feel the acceptance in the way his body stays loose and trusting in my arms.

The same acceptance I felt when he dropped to his knees without hesitation. The same acceptance I felt when he spread his legs wider and let me open him.

Emotions move through me in heavy, overlapping currents while we lie there.

Lust remains the loudest. It has not diminished with release. If anything the partial satisfaction has only sharpened the remaining hunger.

I want the rest of him. I want the moment he asks me for it properly, the way I told him he would have to. I want to be inside him when he comes next, buried deep, watching his face while he takes every inch.

Tenderness sits right beside the lust, almost indistinguishable from it. The careful way he is holding himself against me. The faint marks my mouth left on his throat.

The trust he keeps offering even though we still have not named what we are. I stroke his back again and feel something in my chest pull tight.

Possessiveness follows, deep and absolute. He is already mine in every way that matters to me. The name, the training, the way he looks at me when he thinks I am not watching, the way he came with my fingers inside him and my cock sliding against his, those things are not temporary.

I will make them permanent. The path runs through his mother’s house and her blessing and a clear, spoken claim. I will walk it.

There is also a quieter undercurrent of vulnerability that I do not examine often. I have built my life around control and forward motion. Wanting someone this completely, this permanently, exposes a flank I am not used to leaving open.

The system that has been shaping him is still an unknown variable. The elevation it spoke of is still an undefined threshold. I am choosing to build a future around a man who is being prepared for something I cannot yet see. The risk is real. I accept it anyway.

Akira shifts again, lifting his head enough to look at me. His mouth is still faintly swollen from the earlier kiss and from what he did on his knees.

The sight sends another hard pulse of want through me. I cup the side of his face and run my thumb along his lower lip, feeling the residual dampness there.

"You didn’t have to do that," I tell him, though the words are only half true. I needed it as much as he did. Maybe more.

"I wanted to." His voice is soft, a little rough. "I’ve wanted to."

The honesty sounded clean. I lean in and kiss him, slow and deep, tasting the lingering salt of myself on his tongue. He opens for me without hesitation.

The kiss stays unhurried even while the hunger under it tries to climb. When I pull back I rest my forehead against his and simply breathe him in.

"We’re not finished," I say. "But we’re not taking the last step on a training mat because neither of us could hold the line anymore. When I have you properly, it won’t be rushed and it won’t be half-defined. You understand me?"

His eyes search mine. I watch the understanding settle, followed by a flicker of something that looks like relief and anticipation braided together.

"Yes," he answers.

"Good."

I help him sit up. We clean what we can with the edge of a discarded towel and the limited dignity available to two people who have just come all over each other in a public annex.

The ordinary motions of straightening clothes and smoothing hair feel almost surreal after the intensity of what preceded them. I keep finding reasons to touch him; adjusting the collar of his top, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead, letting my hand rest at the small of his back while he steps into his pants.

He leans into every contact. The quiet acceptance feeds the same possessive tenderness that has been growing in me for weeks.

When we are presentable enough to leave, I stop him at the door with a hand on his wrist.

"I’m going to speak to your mother," I say.

Akira goes still. His eyes widen a fraction.

"About us," I continue. "About doing this properly. I want her blessing before I ask you for anything more formal. I want her to know that what I feel for you isn’t temporary and isn’t casual. I want her to hear it from me."

For a moment he only looks at me. A complicated mix of emotions moves across his face; surprise, vulnerability, a soft, startled warmth that makes my chest tighten. Then he nods, once, careful and sure.

"Okay," he whispers.

I kiss him again, shorter this time, a seal on the promise. The taste of him is still in my mouth when we finally step out into the corridor.

The rest of the complex continues its ordinary day around us. No one looking at us would know that twenty minutes ago he was on his knees for me, or that my fingers had been inside him while he came, or that I am already planning the conversation that will clear the path for everything I intend to claim.

I walk him as far as the split in the paths. Before we separate I catch his hand and squeeze once, hard enough to be felt.

"Go eat something," I tell him. "Hydrate. I’ll find you later."

He nods. The faint colour still high in his cheeks is the only visible evidence of what we did. I watch him walk away until he turns the corner, and only then let myself lean back against the wall and exhale the full weight of what is moving through me.

Lust, still banked and waiting. Tenderness so sharp it borders on pain. Possessiveness that has already decided the outcome of the conversation with his mother.

Resolve to do this in the right order, even when every instinct is screaming to take him back to the nearest private room and finish what we started.

And underneath it all, a deep, steady certainty: I am going to make him mine in every way that matters. I am going to stand in front of his mother and ask for the right to try.

And when she gives it, because I will not accept any other answer, I am going to put the question to Akira himself with the same clarity I bring to everything else I refuse to lose.

The image of him on his knees rises again, unbidden and vivid.

I close my eyes and let it move through me one more time, the wet heat of his mouth, the trust in the way he looked up, the soft broken sounds he made when I called him baby.

Then I open them and start walking toward the part of the day that still requires ordinary function.

The plan is already in motion.

His mother’s blessing first. Then the rest of his life comes next.