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Balance	By : sailormac Category: +G to L > Hikaru no Go Views: 10858 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hikaru no Go, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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BALANCE
A Hikaru no Go Sekkushiaru Roman Series
By Sailor Mac

PART THREE: SOCIAL (4/4)

Akira shut the suitcase and pushed it aside. He’d gotten very used to packing. You had to, if you were going to play Go at the higher levels. His father had spent considerable time on the road when Akira was growing up, playing at tournaments around the country.

*My father never had a tournament moved on him because he was involved in a scandal,* Akira thought, picking up a smaller, carryon case. He already had his standard travel kit in there, he just needed to put in a few more items.

Usually, his father would come up and talk to him the night before a major tournament like this. But tonight -- nothing.

Of course, his father had barely spoken to him at all since their confrontation the day after the picture appeared in the newspaper.

Akira had kept hoping it would blow over after a day or so, that his father would come around and talk to him like normal. After all, they were still bound by Go, the thing that had defined their relationship since Hikaru was a small child.

But Touya Koyou had remained closeted in his Go room like a hermit, never inviting his son to join him there. And Akira had spent as much time out of the house as possible, at the Go salon if he wasn’t at the Institute. At least Ichikawa and the salon regulars acted as if nothing was wrong -- or at least they did in front of him.

He’d tried to get Shindou on the phone every day, without success. At the Go Institute, he never seemed to be able to track him down. On the one day they’d had a game together, Hikaru had fled before he could talk to him.

As he finished packing, he knocked a brown envelope to the floor, which spilled out its contents -- a book of love poetry and a note in a flowery, feminine handwri say saying how very, very kawaii he and Hikaru were together.

He’d gotten several packages like that over the past couple of days, not to mention more graphic letters from women who were positive that they could convert him back to being straight -- a couple even accompanied by photos of them in various stages of undress.

He put down the bag, pulled out his cell phone and dialed the familiar speed dial code. He didn’t know why he was bothering. He knew exactly what he was going to hear -- ringing, followed by a recording saying, “The cellular customer you are trying to reach is not available right now . . .”

*I’m going over there,* he thought. *I’m going to talk to him before we leave for this thing. We *need* to talk.*

He headed out to the living room. His mother sat reading a book. She looked up briefly at him.

“I’m going out for awhile, Mother,” he said. He couldn’t say *where* he was going. Not too long ago, he’d just say “I’m going to Shindou’s” and nobody would bat an eye.

His mother just nodded. She had probably figured out where he was going.

* * *

Hikaru knew who it was when the knock came on his door. He pulled a pillow over his head, willing the person outside to go away.

But he didn’t. The knock came again, harder and louder. Hikaru pulled the pillow down tighter.

*I don’t want to hear it, Touya,* he thought. *Just take what it was you were going to say to me and go home.*

But the door opened a crack anyway, and Akira poked in his head, saying, “Shindou?”

Hikaru just stayed where he was, stock-still.

Akira frowned as he entered the room. It was pitch-black. He reached for the wall, fumbling for the light switch -- he knew it was around here somewhere. His hand hit it, and the room became flooded with light.

Hikaru was lying on the bed, pillow pulled over the top of his head. The goban was clean, no stones lying on it. Everything else in the room was orderly -- looking like Hikaru had been just lying there, not touching anything, all day.

There were no bags, packed or otherwise, anywhere in sight.

“Where are your bags?” Akira said. “We leave tomorrow.”

“I’m not going,” Hikaru said, not removing the pillow.

“Not going?” Akira moved further into the room. “What are you talking about?”

“I *said* I’m not going!” Hikaru said, turning away from the other boy.

“You’re going to just stop playing again?” Akira said. “After everything you’ve accomplished in the past year? You’re a member of the Honinbou League, Shindou! You’re in the semifinals of this tournament! What did you come all this way for if you’re just going to fold when things aren’t going your way?”

“This is way beyond *not going my way*!” Hikaru sat bolt upright, flinging the pillow across the room. “Three-quarters of Japan things I’m some kind of gay slut who led the pristine Touya Akira astray. Everyone else just thinks I’m after publicity. Oh, except the girls who are drooling over the idea of us together. How the hell am I going to play Go like that?”

“You’ve played Go under bad circumstances before!” Akira nearly shouted. “You went up against me at the junior high Go tournament when you’d only been playing a year! You fought your way up from the bottom of the insei to become a pro in a matter of months! You came back from all those forfeitures -- “

“And I didn’t have the press hounding me when I was doing any of that!” Hikaru shouted. “I never wanted to be a celebrity! I just wanted to play Go! Now I’m a celebrity for all the wrong reasons, and it sucks!”

“You think you’re the only one hurting because of this?” Akira shouted back, hands clenched into fists, his long hair nearly bristling with emotion. “I have to listen to the same things you do! And my father isn’t playing games with me anymore. But I’m not stopping! Because I can’t stop. Go is who I am.” He looked at Hikaru, eyes burning. “And if you’re truly my rival, you’re not going to let it stop you, either!”

Hikaru’s face seemed to soften a bit, although his posture was no less tense. “Touya,” he said, quietly.

Akira spun around so abruptly that his hair bannered out around his face. “You can stay here all you want,” he said. “We’re supposed to be in Kyoto for that tournament tomorrow, and I’m going.”

Hikaru stared at his retreating back. Akira was going though with it, despite everything . . .

He sank to the bed. He still didn’t know if he could face it. The press, the other players, the . . .

And then a voice in the back of his head said, “If he’s in the tournament, and you’re not, that’s letting him get ahead of you, isn’t it?”

Hikaru sat up. Letting him get ahead . . .

“No *way*,” he said aloud. “No way in *hell*!”

He leapt from his bed and rushed to the closet, yanking out his duffel bag and starting to stuff it.

Halfway down the hall, Akira paused when he heard the sound. He walked quietly back, just far enough so he could peek in. He smiled to himself when he saw Hikaru packing.

Invoking their rivalry had worked.

“I need you, Shindou Hikaru,” he whispered. “Without you, my Go is empty.”

And he knew very well that without Hikaru, his *life* was pretty empty as well. Suddenly, what the rest of the world had to say about them seemed less significant than ever.

* * *

Okasoto couldn’t believe he was back at another Go event.

He’d gotten the scoop of a lifetime, had all his coworkers congratulate him, been offered a nice, hefty raise and better assignments -- hell, he was going to the J-Rock Awards next week!

But first, he had to get through this. “Since you did so well at the last Go tournament, we’re sending you to this one,” his boss had told him.

*Great*, he thought. *More of watching people put little rocks down on a board. Otherwise known as watching paint dry. And I sure as hell aren’t going to be able to sneak backstage this time, they’ve tightened security -- because of me, of course.*

He made his way to his seat, thinking that at least he got a free overnight to Kyoto out of this. It would have been even better if it had been Okinawa, but hey.

“Um, excuse me, I think that’s my seat,” said a man who had come up the aisle in the opposite direction. Fortysomething guy, graying hair, snazzy suit, the reporter observed.

*Probably the father of one of the players,* Okasoto thought. *I’ve heard a lot of them are rich bitches.*

“Seat E?” Okasoto said, looking at his assignment sheet.

“Never mind, mine’s F.” The two men sat next to each other. Okasoto got out his camera -- *Ah,* he thought as he opened the lens cover, *here’s my trusty buddy who made my career turn around.*

“Are you with Weekly Go?” his seat mate said. “I don’t recall seeing you in their office.”

“Nope, I’m with the Daily Mirror. I’m Okasoto Satoshi.BR> BR>
“And I’m Ishii Kazuya.”

“You the father of one of the players?” Okasoto looked through his camera lens, trying to line up the best possible shots of the playing area.

“No. I’m sort of an employee of the Go Institute. Or, rather, I was.”

“Really?” Okasoto looked away from his camera. “What happened, you get tossed out?”

“Well, they had hired me to do a publicity campaign involving Shindou and Touya.” Okasoto noticed that the other man had a rather annoying habit of fiddling with his tie. And it was a *nice* tie too, silk and embroidered with little gold flecks. It looked like it cost as much as three of Okasoto’s own ties.

“Oh, yeah?” Okasoto said. “I took a picture of them not too long ago.”

Ishii couldn’t remember setting anything up with the Daily Mirror during his brief publicity campaign. “At the Go Institute? Or at one of the matches?”

“The last match, actually. Only it wasn’t *during* the match. It was during a break.”

Ishii frowned. During a break? The boys wouldn’t have sat for pictures during the break, it was painfully obvious what they had been doing during . . .

And then, suddenly, it hit him. He knew why the name of the newspaper sounded familiar. And he knew exactly when that picture had been taken.

He whirled around to face the other man. “You took *that* picture!”

Okasoto smiled and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, I did,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

“Do you know how much damage you did with that shot?” Ishii was fumbling with his tie faster than ever, and his face was starting to take on something of a reddish tint. “I lost my contract with the Go Institute! A major publicity campaign was squandered! They lost their best chance in years to educate the general public about Go!”

Okasoto blinked rapidly. This kind of thing hadn’t occurred to him. Publicity campaign? They were actually trying to get people to *play* this boring game? *No wonder he’s upset,* he thought. *This game needs all the publicity it can get.*

He was going to reply when he felt a sharp jab in his ribs on the other side. It was another reporter, from another one of the dailies, a burly guy trying to focus a digital camera on the playing area.

“Sorry,” he said. “There ain’t much room for us to move around in here, is there? I mean, with all of us packed in and all.”

Okasoto took a look around him. Sure enough, the rows designated for the press had filled up, and then some. All around him were men and women with notebooks, miniature tape recorders and cameras. Some of them were talking amongst themselves, others, like the man next to him, were just trying to get the best possible shot of the stage.

He turned back to Ishii. “I don’t think I damaged the game’s public relations at all.”

Ishii turned even redder. “What did you say?”

“Take a look around you. Go never was *this* much in the public eye before.”

Ishii looked around. And around.

“They’re here for the wrong reasons!” he retorted.

“Yes, but they’re *here*, aren’t they?” Okasoto said. “They’re here and they’re going to write about Go.”

“They’re going to be hounding Shindou and Touya, not writing about Go!” Ishii snapped.

“And you can’t very well write about Shindou and Touya without at least *mentioning* Go, right?” said Okasoto.

“That’s all they’ll do,” said Ishii, practically twisting his tie in knots by now. “*Mention* it. And then spend the rest of the article speculating on their private lives.”

“Making Go look scandalous, glamorous, and attractive,” Okasoto replied. “You know what they say about no such thing as bad publicity.”

Okasoto was going to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. Because what Okasoto had said just hom home.

*If everything had gone right,* he thought, *and we had done the campaign, if I had drawn this many reporters, I would have been ecstatic.*

He sank back into his seat, overwhelmed with the irony. A smarmy reporter out to stir up trouble had done his intended job better than he ever could.

* * *

Hikaru was glad that the hall they were playing in had a “green room” area, with a main waiting area and several smaller cubicles.

He was in one of the cubicles now. He wanted to be alone. He had to make sure he stayed composed, focused.

In the next room, he could hear Waya and Isumi talking. Under normal circumstances, he’d be out there with them. Someone else let out a loud guffaw of laughter, probably blowing off steam before a tense match.

He wondered where Touya was. He hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the night before -- he had rode here in the bullet traione,one, the first time he’d done such a thing. Usually, if he hadn’t been sitting with Akira, he’d be with Waya and Isumi.

But he couldn’t think of any of them right now. He had to focus on the game.

* rou round determines the final four,* Hikaru thought. *I have to win. Losing isn’t an option at all. There’s too much at stake. I have to show people I can *play*.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to empty his mind, as Sai taught him to do so very long ago.

*I’ll win, Sai,* he thought. *I’ll win, and get everyone’s respect back. They’ll have no choice but to notice me for my *Go.*

He heard a voice outside calling, “Players to your positions! All players to your positions!”

Hikaru got up and left the room, eyes burning with determination, fan clenched tightly in his hand.

This was no mere game. It was war.

* * *

Waya poured himself a glass of water from the cooler and sank down on the chair, loosening his tie. He couldn’t believe he’d lost that game. He’d gained so much territory early on, and protected it fiercely -- and while he was busy doing that, his opponent was slyly grabbing territory all over the rest of the board.

*He snuck up on me just like Shindou does,* he thought, crumpling the cup and tossing it in the garbage.

The green room was deserted right now. He wasn’t the first person to have lost his game, but he was the first to come back here. The others were all watching Touya. He sure as hell wasn’t going to do that.

He clenched his hand into a fist when he thought of Touya Akira corrupting Shindou, taking advantage of their bizarre obsession with each other to seduce him. He was angry at Touya for doing it, angry at Shindou for giving in.

*No one was surprised that Touya turned out to be light in the loafers,* Waya thought. *But Shindou . . . Nobody expected this. Nobody.*

He knew Isumi was extremely uncomfortable with the very idea of Hikaru being gay. He’d just acted awkward whenever the boy was mentioned ever since that picture appeared. Most of the guys in the study group were, too -- when they’d discussed the matter, they tried to act as if they were being open-minded, talking about how horrible it was that Shindou had be be outed by the press, but their downcast eyes and nervous tics belayed their true feelings.

“Crap, I don’t know how I feel about this,” he said out loud, raking his fingers through his unruly mop of brown hair. “I don’t know if I hate this just because he’s gay or because he’s gay with *Touya*!”

At that moment, Isumi came into the room, looking strangely calm. “What happened?” Waya said.

Isumi sat beside him. “I won. The final four is going to be myself, Shindou, Touya and Murikami.” He looked away. “I just hope I’m not playing Shindou.”

“What do you mean?” Waya replied.

“Did you see how he’s playing today?” Isumi said, reaching for a water cup. “He’s absolutely savage. Playing lightning Go all the way. Cutting the other guy off. Using every psych-out in his arsenal. I don’t know why the game lasted as long as it did -- I would have resigned long before his opponent did.”

Waya blinked. He thought that all the publicity, all the reporters, all this mess would have knocked Shindou off-balance, made his game unstable. Instead, it was doing the exact opposite.

“I just don’t understand him,” he mumbled aloud. Whenever he’d said that, he’d always meant he didn’t understand Shindou the Go player. Now, he was beginning to not understand the *person*, either.

“And Touya . . . was Touya, but more so,” said Isumi, swirling the water in his cup around again. “He was very precise. Methodical. Almost like he was dissecting the other guy.”

“Not surprised,” Waya said. “He doesn’t give a damn about what people say about him.” He looked at Isumi. “So where are they now? Don’t see them around here.”

“I think they went back to the hotel,” Isumi replied. “They just disappeared after the match.”

They didn’t want to take that discussion further. It would mean talking about Shindou and Touya’s relationship, and it was something neither wanted to do.

Instead, Waya said, “When do you find out who you’re playing?”

“Tomorrow morning, first thing. There’s a drawing.”

* * *

Akira headed back to the hotel, a slight wind ruffling his hair as he walked on the side of the road alone.

Alone had been his typical state for most of his life. It had never bothered him, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Now, though, he was feeling the absence of Shindou beside him.

*When did he become enough a part of me that I feel like something’s missing if he’s not there?* Akira thought.

He was glad that no press saw him leave the building. He couldn’t deal with them following him back here. He’d managed to ignore their constant presence for the most part, but the very idea of their cameras being trained constantly on himself and Shindou was annoying him. Because he know those cameras weren’t there to capture their Go.

His hand slid into his pocket and grasped his cell phone as he headed up the hotel walk. Usually, when he was playing on the road, he called his father after the match and told him how it went.

That was before his father had stopped talking to him.

As he walked into the lobby, he saw Shindou headed toward the elevators, also alone. The other boy didn’t look back at him, just walked, jumped on the first elevator that came and disappeared from sight.

Akira’s hand clenched into a fist. He didn't think he’d ever feel this degree of pain over something that wasn’t related to Go. This hurt like those initial defeats by Sai, or his loss to Ogata in the Honinbou tournament.

He headed for the elevator and pushed the button. An elderly couple, who were also waiting, turned and gave him a peculiar look for a moment, t eye eyes saying, “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” He remained looking straight ahead.

It seemed like an eternity before the elevator arrived, another one before it stopped at his floor. He pulled out his key card, pushed it into the lock and went in.

The first thing he noticed was that the light was on. He frowned -- he was sure he’d turned it off. Well, the housekeeping staff had probably been in there.

He headed for his bed -- and stopped short.

The bed was already occupied, by a young woman with red hair.

He stood rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open. And it hung open more when she slid upward, the sheet slipping down over her shoulders, just enough to see she was wearing nothing on top.

Chances were, she was wearing nothing on the bottom, either.

“Hi there,” she said in a sexy voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Akira found himself starting to turn red with anger -- although he was still paralyzed. He raised a hand, pointed at the door, and said, “I don’t know who you are, or how you got in here, but I want you to get out. Now.”

“Now, what fun would that be?” The woman sat up, hair spilling over her shoulders, covers falling away to reveal an ample bosom. Akira quickly turned his head away. He’d never seen anyone outside his family naked except Hikaru. He cerly hly hadn’t wanted to see someone naked under these circumstances.

“I’m not interested in fun,” Akira said, wondering how he was even managing to get the words out.

“That’s because nobody has ever showed you the *right way* to have fun,” the woman said, starting to rise from the bed.

Now Akira suddenly regained control of his body, and began moving toward her rapidly, as if to push her back down. “I said GET OUT!” he shouted. “Or I’ll call the police!”

But the woman, nonplussed, just said, “You’re too uptight. You need to be loosened up a bit.” And she grabbed Akira’s tie and yanked him downward.

Akira found himself sprawling atop the woman. He tried to pull away, but she ensnared him like an octopus, wrapping her arms around him -- and one leg. He struggled, she held on tighter, laughing, trying to put her lips on his. She moved her head toward the left, he jerked his to the right. She moved to the right, he jerked to the left.

* * *

Hikaru was in his room, lying on the bed, idly flipping through the channels of the television. There was nothing there he particularly wanted to watch, but it was better than stillness and silence.

There was always his portable goban . . . he should run a few exercises, recreate some games, in preparation for the next day’s play. But somehow, that option didn’t seem all that appealing, either.

He flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head. It was times likis wis when his head felt empty, because he was no longer sharing consciousness with Sai.

*Is it really *that* which is bothering me?* he thought. *Or do I just miss Akira?*

He was starting to mull this over when he heard the yell from the next room. He jumped to his feet -- was Touya in trouble? He rushed into the hall -- the other boy’s door was slightly ajar, and there was definitely sounds of scuffling, or maybe a struggle, coming from that room.

He pushed the door open and rushed in -- then stopped short when he saw Akira, on the bed, desperately trying to free himself from the clutches of a naked woman who definitely didn’t seem intent on letting him go. He was wriggling and twisting like a fly caught in a spider’s web, she was hanging on like a leech. When he seemed to have most of his body free, she’d wrap around him again and pull him down.

Hikaru began to chuckle quietly at the absurd sight. Which became full-blown laughter. Which became him roaring hysterically, tears pouring from his eyes.

The two on the bed froze. The woman dropped her guard long enough for Akira to free himself. Leaping to his feet and whirling around to face Hikaru, he shouted, “It’s *not funny*!”

But that just made Hikaru laugh all the harder, grabbing the bureau for support, bending over double and clutching his stomach.

“Stop it!” Akira shouted. “I could have been . . .” He didn’t know what the word for what almost happened to him was. Raped? But men usually didn’t get raped by women!

This just made Hikaru start to turn red, gasping for air as he clutched the bureau tighter.

Neither seemed to notice that the woman got out of the bed, uttered a small “Humph!” and grabbed for the brief black dress tossed casually at the side of the bed. She pulled it on, slid her feet into a pair of high-heeled black sandals and left the room.

“You . . . you should have seen it,” Hikaru gasped. “You were all tangled up . . . and . . . and she . . .” He dissolved in another wave of hysteria, literally falling onto the floor.

Akira was going to shout at him again . . . until a picture filled his mind of what the scene must have looked like. And it struck him as absurd. And then, the whole situation they found themselves in struck him as absurd. Their lives had been turned into a goldfish bowl, just because of their relationship . . .

He started to laugh himself, a small chuckle, and then bigger waves of laughter, and before he knew it, he was sinking to the ground to join Shindou, clutching at his sides, rocking to and fro as one wave after another of laughter tore through him.

They raised their heads, looked at each other -- and just started laughing all over again, first Hikaru, then Akira falling down to lie flat on the floor.

Finally, they began to calm down, Hikaru managing to slow down to giggles, then coughing loudly. Akira followed suit.

They sat up, facing each other, faces flushed, panting heavily. Akira couldn’t help but compare it to how they looked and sounded after lovemaking.

“Shindou . . .” he began.

Hikaru put up a hand. “Hey, it was just *funny,* okay?”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Akira said quietly.

The two of them settled into sitting positions, Hikaru with his arms wrapped around his legs, Akira with his legs carefully tucked under him.

“Well, geez, I needed to blow off some steam after today,” Hikaru said. “Tough game, and with all those cameras pointed at us . . .”

“It’s something we’re going to have to get used to,” Akira said, reaching up to idly play with his collar. “We’re going to have to get used to a *lot*.

“Like not having people talk to us?” Hikaru said. “My mother completely freaked out when she saw that paper.”

“What about your father?”

“Hasn’t spoken to me since.” Hikaru looked away and murmured quietly, “Not that he ever did before.”

“My father still isn’t talking to me,” Akira said, looking down at the floor, his hair softly falling in his face. “He talks a little, but -- not like before. And we’re still not playing our games.”

Hikaru could see the hurt in those eyes. *For him,* he thought, *this must be like losing Sai was for me.*

He reached out and put a hand on Akira’s -- not trying to grasp and hold, just applying a gentle pressure, letting his lover know he was there, and he cared. Akira’s head remained down for a moment, then he raised it slowly, his eyes meeting Hikaru’s.

“It hurts,” Akira said, “but I’ve decided I’m not going to let him change who I am. Who I am *now*, I mean.”

“You mean, in regards to the relationship with me?” Hikaru said.

“It’s more than that. I’ve found out a lot of things about myself in the past couple of months. Things I never dreamed. Not just that I’m . . . attracted to men . . . to *you* . . . but . . .” He looked down again, brushing his hair out of his face. “It’s hard to explain.”

Hikaru smiled a bit. “Try me.”

Akira looked up at the ceiling. “Well, for the first time, it felt like there was more to *me* than Go. Before you and I became a couple, I felt like my hands were only for placing stones. And anything I did between games was, well, just killing time between games. But now . . .” His hand shifted so it was clasping Hikaru’s. “I’m still a Go player. But now I’m . . . “ He looked down again. “I’m sorry. I’m not making sense.”

“Yes, you are,” Hikaru said. “You feel like a *full person* for the first time.”

Akira looked up. “Is it that way for you, too?”

“No,” Hikaru said, covering their clasped hands with his other hand. “For me, it was the opposite. I felt like a full person only after I seriously started playing Go.”

There was a long moment of silence, during which they both contemplated this.

Finally, Akira said, “So, what happens now?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” Hikaru said.

Akira nodded. “It’s not going to be easy. But, in a way -- well, some of the pressure’s off now, isn’t it? We don’t have to worry about ‘what if people find out,’ because they know now.”

Hikaru sighed. “I kinda wish they’d found out a different way.”

“Do you think they would have reacted any differently?”

Hikaru thought of his mother’s tears, Waya’s anger, Tsubaki’s attempt to “de-gay” him. He shook his head no.

“We’ll just figure out how the people in our lives feel after a few months,” Akira said, “and go from there. Some of them may come around by themselves.”

*And there’s others,* Akira thought, *who may not come around at all.* He just hoped his father wasn’t among the latter group.

Hikaru leaned over and wrapped his arms around Akira, drawing him into a tight embrace. They stayed that way for a long moment, just savoring the closeness they hadn’t enjoyed since the night the picture taken.

Then, Hikaru shifted so his forehead was against Akira’s, so that their faces were close together, but their lips tantalizingly apart, and said, “You know, it would be a shame to waste the fact that we’re here in this room together.”

Akira hugged him tighter. “It would definitely be a shame.” He felt the old, familiar heat rising inside him, starting to chase away all the bitterness and hurt of the days since the photo appeared. It had never felt so good.

“It’s just too bad that we don’t have any . . .”

“We do,” Akira said. “I put my overnight kit in my bag, and I have some condoms and K-Y in there.”

Hikaru pulled back. “You’re kidding.”

“Well, we *do* travel together a lot.”

Hikaru suddenly found himself bursting into laughter again. “If people knew that *Touya Akira* traveled with a sex kit . . .”

“It is NOT a sex kit!” Akira huffed, reaching up for the bag on the nearby dresser. "Look, I’ll show you what . . .”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. A hand reached up and grasped his and a pair of lips crushed against his own as he was tumbled backward onto the floor. His lips opened, and he let out a small growl deep in his throat as Hikaru’s tongue probed for his own.

Akira let out a gasp, his arms coming up around the other boy. He kissed his way along his cheek, nibbling a bit at the skin as he did so, and then just buried his face in Hikaru’s hair, inhaling deeply -- oh, yes, the slightly herbal scent of his shampoo was intoxicating, making his heart beat faster.

Hikaru began to writhe against him, pressing their bodies together, his hands gripping at the back of Akira’s shirt.

Akira tumbled them both onto the floor, hands reaching for Hikaru’s shirt buttons, feeling like he was never going to get them undone -- of all times, why did he have to be wearing a dress shirt now? He had to get it off, had to feel Hikaru’s naked skin beneath his fingers.

He pushed the fabric aside and ran his hands up and down his chest, feeling the smooth skin, the taut muscles underneath, and then, the rapidly hardening buds of his nipples. Moaning, he leaned over and began to lash at one of the buds with his tongue, making the other boy arch and cry out.

Hikaru tangled his fingers in Akira’s hair, panting, raising his body off the floor, trying to push himself onto his lover’s mouth. One leg came up and wrapped around Akira’s hip as he ground his pelvis against his lover’s, feeling their erections touch through the layers of cloth.

Akira raised his head and gasped at the sensation, pushing his hips down harder, rotating them, feeling a slow, hot wave of feeling start to spread through his body. “Hikaru . . .” he cried, hoarsely.

“I want you to get off me right now,” Hikaru said, “and take every stitch of clothes off. I want your skin on mine.”

Akira rolled off the other boy and stood up, ridding himself of tie, shirt, belt, pants . . . His eyes were fastened to Hikaru as his lover tossed the shirt on the floor, then the rest of his clothes after it.

Hikaru walked over to Akira rapidly, grasped him by the shoulders and spun him around. Akira let out a cry, and then another as the other boy pushed his back, bidding him to bend over with his hands on the bed, his bottom up in the air.

To Hikaru, that bottom was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He bent over and nipped at the right cheek, drawing some of the flesh into his lips and sucking hard, almost hard enough to cause pain. His hand grasped the other mound, squeezing it firmly, then releasing, then squeezing again.

Akira cried out loudly, pushing his hips back against Hikaru, and cried out again as he began laying a trail of kisses all over the curves, stopping to nibble again, then suck, his teeth scraping at the skin just enough for Akira to *feel* it.

One hand reached around his body and wrapped around his erection, beginning to stoke it with a rapid motion, making Akira give another sharp cry. The fingers paused at the head, moving around and around in a rapid swirling motion, then wrapped around his maleness, pumping hard and fast. On one downstroke, his thumb flicked out to brush for just a second on the sac beneath, making Akira give a small, sharp cry.

Hikaru’s tongue stroked a straight line up the right cheek as his index finger traced a straight line from root to tip, then down again. His teeth nipped at the flesh as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft again and began stroking hard and fast.

Akira’s head leaned downward, his hair softly falling over his face as he panted and moaned, his eyes shut tight, his lips moist and parted. His hands clutched tightly at the bedding beneath him as he struggled to hold on . . . couldn’t come, not yet . ..

Then the stroking, nibbling and sucking stopped. Hikaru began moving up, pressing his chest to his lover’s bottom and sliding it upward, over his back, until he was bent over the other boy, his lips at his ear, his erection tantalizingly pressing against the cleft.

“Your turn,” he whispered, hotly. “Now make me moan.”

Akira turned his head so he could kiss Hikaru’s lips. “How would you like me to do that?” he whispered.

“Any way you like.” Hikaru moved away from Akira and lay on his back on the bed, legs bent at the knee and open invitingly.

Akira reached for the “sex kit.” He knew what he wanted to do, all right. Something he came across in his research.

He took the tube of lubricant and squeezed some on his finger, leaning over to kiss Hikaru’s lips. He reached for the boy’s opening and began to softly massage it, coaxing it to let him in.

Hikaru raised his head -- why was Akira doing this *now*? He wasn’t sure if they’d fooled around enough for him to have a comfortable entry. “Akira . . .”

“Ssshhhh,” Akira said, sliding his finger in slowly. “Relax . . . you’ll see.”

Hikaru lay back, puzzled. He winced as the now-familiar burning pain came, and took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. Akira’s finger probed deeper, and the pain subsided and began to mix with pleasure.

But there was something different about this time and all the other times they’d done this. He wasn’t starting to thrustand and out. Instead, he was curving his finger a bit and making an odd motion, as if he were beckoning someone, the pad of his finger brushing against the wall of his sheath. And he was moving it in small circles, up and down, back and forth.

The sensation was . . . odd.

Hikaru was about to ask him what he was doing when a sharp electric jolt shot through his whole body, making him arch off the bed and give a small yell.

Akira stopped what he was doing. Hikaru collapsed to the bed, gasping.

“What . . . what was that?”

Akira just smiled a little. “I’ve found what I was looking for.”

And he began the beckon-stroking motion again, right over the spot he’d just touched, and Hikaru felt the electric sensation again, consuming his whole body, more sharp and intense than any pleasure he’d ever felt except at the very peak of orgasm. Except he wasn’t coming. He was just suspended in a state of bliss that was on the verge of being torturous agony.

Hikaru pulled his legs up further, he writhed, he clutched at the sheets. His eyes were tightly shut, his mouth open in an O of pleasure, his breath coming in rapid gasps punctuated with deep groans. His skin was broken out in a sheen of sweat, his nipples standing out in bas relief on his flushed skin, his erection feeling ready to burst.

When Akira stopped stroking for a moment, and leaned over to quickly sweep his tongue up and down Hikaru’s erection, Hikaru nearly lost it.

The tongue left him, the stroking started again, but then Akira’s other hand was reaching up to his chest, finding the right nipple, brushing lightly in circles over it, squeezing it gently. Hikaru arched upward, letting out a hoarse cry, one hand clutching the sheet, the other slamming down on the mattress over and over.

Akira slid his finger out, and Hikaru cried out in protest. He quickly wiped it off and relubed it, along with a second finger, and pushed them back in. Hikaru’s whole body was limp and trembling from the pleasure before. A small shudder ran through him as Akira began to thrust.

“I’m going to take you,” Akira said in a husky voice, pulling the fingers out and wiping them off, then grabbing a condom. He couldn’t take his eyes off his lover as he rolled the rubber on and applied lubricant as fast as he could.

Hikaru let out another moan as Akira positioned himself above him, the tip of his manhood starting to press against his opening. He lifted his hips, thrusting upward, trying to impale himself.

The pain came, but it did not last nearly as long as it did in the past, and when the pleasure began to flood him, it was so sweet and intense he had to bite his lip to keep from coming right then.

Akira paused, feeling Hikaru grip him tightly, taking a deep breath as silky pleasure began to steal through him in long tendrils. He had to hold on, couldn’t let it end right away . . .

He began to thrust slowly, resisting the urge to just grab the boy’s hips with both hands and just plow into him as hard and fast as he could. He heard Hikaru’s groan of pleasure, and it was answered with a groan of his own . . . so hot, so tight, so delicious . . .

His hips moved faster, and he felt Hikaru move upward to meet each one, the boy’s hands gripping his back, his legs coming up to wrap around his hips.

“More,” Hikaru gasped, as Akira buried his face in the juncture of his head and shoulder with a deep groan. The boys moved as one, faster and faster, both of them thinking they were just so close, any second, any . . .

Akira suddenly stiffened, then let out a yell, feeling waves of liquid heat flood through every bit of him, again and again. Just as he was starting to feel the final spasms of heat, Hikaru cried out as one pulse of fire after another shot through his body, until he collapsed back to the bed, limp, Akira sprawled on top of him.

There was a long moment where both just panted, clinging to each other as if for dear life. Then, Akira raised his head and brought his lips to Hikaru’s for a tender kiss.

“Okay, that was worth waiting for,” Hikaru said. They both laughed.

Akira slid off the bed and went into the bathroom, returning with a wet rag. He began to gently clean Hikaru off.

“Hey, what was that thing you were doing with your finger?” Hikaru said.

Akira smiled. “You liked that?”

“Liked it? It was . . . gods, I never felt anything like that before!”

“Prostate massage,” Akira said, finishing Hikaru and beginning to clean himself off. “One of the Web sites I went to told me how to do it.”

“Well, you’re going to have to show me,” Hikaru said. “I want to do it to you.”

A small shiver passed through Akira at that idea. He saw how intense the pleasure Hikaru had experienced was. He could only imagine experiencing it himself.

Akira got back in the bed and kissed him again. “I can’t give you all my secrets, Shindou,” he said, teasingly.

“Okay, I’ll find out myself. I won’t let you get ahead of me.”

Akira pulled the other boy into his embrace. “We’ll see about that.”

They snuggled up and started to fall asleep -- the first truly restful sleep either had experienced in days.

* * *

Ishii was glad he was sitting at the end of the aisle today. For one thing, it put some distance between himself and that Okasoto creature. He didn’t have any desire to converse with him ever again. Why, the bastard was holding court with other reporters earlier this morning, with them all congratulating him on taking such a great picture. He’d hoped the other members of the press had more class than to give someone like that any credibility.

Unfortunately, his hopes were for nothing.

He also liked to be able to come and go as he pleased. Now that his publicity campaign for the Go Institute was officially “in limbo” (which was better than what the officials had told him before, amounting to “dead as a doornail”), he didn’t have as much interest in watching boys slap stones down on a board.

*I don’t know why I’m even still here,* he thought. *Maybe it’s because I’m still holding out hope that they’ll decide to go ahead with it. Because, gay or not, Touya and Shindou are *star material*. And, dammit, I wanted to be the one to *make* them stars.*

He walked out into the lobby of the building where, to his surprise, he saw Amano standing by the windows, smoking and looking out at the overcast day.

“I’m surprised you’re not in there watching it,” Ishii said.

“There’s no point,” Amano replied, tapping his cigarette into a gray granite column with a bowl of sand stuck in its top. “I could tell just by watching the first twenty or so hands. Touya and Shindou have it wrapped up. The final will be between them. They both have such a *fire* today . . .”

“Maybe it’s from anger,” Ishii said. “All these idiots from the non-Go press gawking at them.”

“They’ll go away soon,” Amano said. “They came looking for a freak show, a public display. When they find there is none, they’ll go back to chasing idol singers and baseball players.”

“Yes . . . people *expected* them to put on a public display,” Ishii murmured, fumbling with his tie. “Let me ask you something. I remember you saying back at the Go Institute that you’d noticed something unusual between them all along. If it was that obvious, why didn’t anyone else pick up on it?”

Amano shrugged. “Too dazzled by their talent to see anything else, maybe. Or perhaps it’s because they just didn’t want to see it.”

The doors of the playing room opened and people started spilling out, chatting loudly, some of them pulling out cell phones, others taking out cigarettes. Ishii could hear the man nearest him saying into his phone, “Yep, Touya and Shindou. The final is after lunch. . . Oh, their opponents didn’t have a chance. They creamed ‘em. Both of ‘em. Resigned within minutes of each other.”

Ishii turned back to Amano. “You were right,” he said. “Okay, I’m going to check in with my office and maybe get some lunch. I’ll see you back in there.”

“All right,” Amano said. He turned back to observe the throngs of press, all the people talking in groups, or into their phones, chatting with excitement about the drama of the two illicit lovers playing each other for the championship.

He knew from past experience watching Shindou and Touya that they were going to deliver a show much more exciting and interesting than the kiss these people had come there to photograph.

“Now,” the reporter murmured to himself, “maybe all these people who came here for the freak show will wind up sitting up and taking notice of *how they play Go.*”

* * *

Hikaru was sitting on the steps just outside the back door of the building. He’d managed to slip out when nobody was looking.

He needed a few minutes to focus before the match, and he wasn’t going to get that with other players around. Or *especially* reporters.

Slowly, he took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds, then letting it out. He needed to empty his mind, to relax. Because he knew he could very well be playing the most important game of his life.

*Touya’s going to be thinking that way, too,* Hikaru thought. *This is going to be the first game between us since *it* happened, and it would have to be in the finals of a tournament.*

But this had gone far beyond being just another tournament. Hikaru knew he wasn’t in it for the prize money or the bragging rights. He was in it to show the world he was a *Go player* first and foremost.

His right hand gripped the fan that was his tangible symbol of Sai. When he’d carried that fan into the Hokuto Cup tournament, he hadn’t walked away with the victory, but he *had* walked away with the respect of the press and the international Go community.

Today, he was going to settle for nothing less than getting that respect back.

“I’m going to beat you today, Touya,” Hikaru said out loud, tapping the fan against the palm of his left hand. “I’ll beat you and make everyone take notice. Then nobody will care what we do away from the goban.”

He stood up, yanked the door open, took another deep breath and headed back in.

* * *

Okasoto wished he knew what the hell was going on at that goban.

He’d watched the two boys sit down, bow, do that counting thing where they figured out who was going first, exchange formal pleasantries -- that same old Go stuff that was starting to look really, really repetitious by now.

A black stone was laid down, then a white, then another black . . . and then, several hands later, a gasp went up from the crowd. A few more stones, then another gasp.

Someone in front of him murmured, “That was a mistake. A horrible mistake. It’s not like Shindou to do something like that this early in the game.”

*Great*, Okasoto thought. *I wouldn’t know a mistake if you waved it in front of my face.*

He looked around him, at the faces of his fellow audience members. The Go players and the press who regularly covered the game sat at rapt attention, eyes glued to the board.

*What the hell is it about this game that fascinates people so?* Okasoto thought. *It’s not as if there’s *action,* like soccer or baseball. It’s just . . . stones. I don’t get it. I don’t think I’ll ever get it.*

Another move, another gasp. The two people in front of him leaned over so they could see better. A couple of others a few seats away were pointing and whispering.

The reporter raised his camera and began to take shots of the expressions of the two young men. Their eyes were glowing with a fierce intensity, their jaws firmly set in an attitude of deep concentration as they studied the board, as if this game were the only thing that mattered in the world.

*I always thought the kids who played Go at my high school were no-life loser geeks,* Okasoto thought. *Maybe these guys are to some extent. Hell, maybe they turned to each other for sex because they have no life outside Go. But *why* Go in the first place? Why does it *obsess* people like this?*

More clinking of stones, a few more gasps, and then suddenly, a great cry throughout the room. Now Okasoto craned his neck along with everyone else.

“What just happened?” he whispered.

“That screwup Shindou made early on turned out to be brilliant,” whispered the nearly bald man in front of him.

“He *always* does that,* whispered his companion. “You think he’s dead in the water, and he always comes back.”

Okasoto sat back in his seat. It was no use, there was no way he could find out what the blazes was happening.

*Just keep telling yourself that in a couple of weeks, you’ll be covering entertainment -- *real* stories -- instead of this stuff,* Okasoto thought.

In front of him, the two men were whispering again. “That’s it,” the first man said. “Shindou’s got the game locked up now. Unless Touya does something amazing, Shindou’s the winner.”

* * *

“One-half moku,” Hikaru mumbled. “One HALF a damn moku!”

“You’ve been saying that nonstop for the past five minutes,” Akira said coolly, adding sugar to his tea. Fortunately, the cafe where they’d come after the match was quiet and devoid of reporters.

“But I thought I *had* it! And in the end . . .”

Akira heaved a deep sigh. “Shindou, we’ve reviewed the game already. You didn’t shore up those stones on the upper right fast enough. That’s what ended up costing you the game in the end.”

“Well, you cut me off too soon in the upper left!” Hikaru clutched his soda glass with both hands.

“That was right after you caught me off guard,” Akira said, raising the cup. “It was a brilliant strategy. It just didn’t . . .”

Hikaru put up a hand. “I *know* it didn’t work out! You keep telling me that!”

“Well, YOU keep talking about the half a moku!” Akira said, clanking the cup down a tad too hard. “And I’m trying to help you figure out what happened!”

Hikaru slumped down in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re just pointing out the same mistakes over and over.”

“That’s because you won’t get it through your head that is the *reason* why you lost!” Akira said, his voice rising.

At that moment, the waitress approach their table gingerly, as if afraid she was going to get caught in the crossfire. In a small voice, she said, “Excuse me, gentlemen, do you need anything else right now?”

“No thank you,” Akira said. Hikaru shook his head.

With the momentum of their argument broken up, the boys just sat in silence for a moment. Then, Hikaru said, “So now we have to go home. I’m not looking forward to it.”

Akira picked up his cup again. “I don’t think either of us is going to have an easy time at home for awhile.”

“Why do we still have to live at home, anyway?” Hikaru said, curling his hands around his glass. “Waya has his own apartment. We’re pros!BR> BR>
Akira looked up. What Hikaru had just said . . . it made a lot of sense.

“Shindou,” he said, “would you consider it?”

Hikaru took a long drink of his soda, then said, “Consider what?”

“The two of us getting an apartment together.”

Hikaru thought this over for a moment. “You sure we could do it?”

“Well, like you said, we’re pros. We can pay for it. We can use tournournament money for our down payment. I got 1,400,000 yen as a prize, plus a match fee of 220,000 yen. How about you?”

“Two hundred eighty thousand yen for the second place prize. And 170,000 yen match fee.”

“That’s more than enough.” Akira said. “I’ll start doing research on the Internet as soon as we get back.”

Hikaru leaned over and took his straw between his lips. “Do you research *everything* on the Internet?” he mumbled around it before taking a drink.

“If I didn’t do that, we wouldn’t have information about anything,” Akira said cooly.

“Hey, I can do research!” Hikaru said, loudly. “You remember that I went to the library and researched . . .” He suddenly realized what he had been about to yell across the cafe, and he slumped down in his seat, hands clamped over his mouth, a slight flush spreading over his cheeks.

“Leave this research to me,” Akira said. “Your kind of research isn’t what we’re looking for in this situation.”

“Can’t we just look in the newspaper for apartments?” Hikaru said, poking at his soda with the straw again.

“We don’t know what we’re looking for!” Akira said. “That’s why I have to do research!”

*I always thought that if I was going to move out,* he thought, *that my father would help me find the apartment. But now, I can’t depend on him. I’m on my own.*

The thought of the rift between himself and his father caused a painful clutching in his heart. BR> *Maybe when there’s some distance between us, Father,* he thought, *it will give you time to think it over, and you will see where I am coming from. You’ll see that I know what I’m doing with this relationship, and it’s not going to affect who I am, as a person or as a player.*

“I wanna get a big-screen television for our apartment,” Hikaru said, picking up his glass.

“We’re *not* going to have time to watch a lot of television!”

“I know, but -- for when I want to play video games . . .”

Akira put his cup down and looked sharply at Hikaru. “We’re not going to have time for that, either!”

Hikaru leaned over toward his lover. “That’s why you need to relax, Touya. I’m going to see you do once we’re living together.”

“I’m plenty relaxed!” Akira said, sitting up stiffly.

“Sure. Just look at you right now.”

“What do you mean?” said Akira, his posture getting even stiffer.

“Don’t worry,” said Hikaru with a sly smile on his face. “I have plans for you. You’ll see.”

“What do you mean by that?”

But Hikaru just smiled. Actually, he had no plans. He’d figure out something when they got to their apartment. But Akira didn’t need to know that.

“What do you mean? Tell me! SHINDOU!”

* * *

Amano looked at the kifu spread out on the table in front of him. They were records of the recent Young Stars tournament. Everyone involved had played great games, seemingly unruffled by the controversy surrounding Shindou and Touya.

But Shindou and Touya themselves had been exceptional.

He picked up the record of the final game and studied it closely. This was the kind of game you’d expect from two older pros who were going for a major championship.

*I have no doubt,* he thought, *that we’ll be seeing those two challenging the title holders much sooner than most people think.*

He looked up when he saw a figure enter his office wearing a navy blue suit. “Good day, Amano-san,” he said.

“I didn’t think I’d see you around here again, Ishii-san,” Amano said, putting the kifu down.

“Oh, I will be around, all right,” Ishii said, sitting down. “The board of directors saw all the press coverage from the Young Stars Tournament. The Go writers all raved about Shindou and Touya’s last game. Hell, even that creep from the Daily Mirror restrained himself and printed pictures of them *playing* this time. And so, they want to restart the campaign.”

Amano shuffled the pile of kifu. “So you’re going ahead with the Go Idol thing?”

“Not quite,” Ishii said. “It’s going to be more low-key. Articles in publications with a youth audience, but -- more about the game itself, not pushing the players as personalities. We’ll set up interviews with Shindou and Touya, of course, but also some other boys who have good playing records and are well-spoken.”

Amano nodded, setting his pile of papers off to the side. “I think everyone will be a lot more comfortable with that.”

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed the other one didn’t work out,” Ishii said. “Those boys, Shindou and Touya -- they really *do* have star quality.”

“And you wanted to do something with that quality, didn’t you?” Amano said.

Ishii began to fiddle with his tie. “I’m a publicist, Amano-san, and I like what I do. I look at boys like Shindou and Touya the way a sculptor would look at a block of marble.”

“Go players aren’t exactly made of marble,” Amano said, pulling out a cigarette.

“I know that now,” Ishii said. “The game -- it’s not just another game, is it? It’s not like soccer. Those boys -- they seemed to be playing from their very *souls*.”

Ishii nodded as he lit up. “You’ve hit pretty close to what it really is.”

“So, maybe packaging something like that and selling it like soap wasn’t a good idea in the first place.” He stood up. “Well, I have to meet up with a couple of people and set up the first round of interviews.” He bowed. “I will see you later.”

“Yes,” Amano said. “Until later, then.”

Ishii left the Weekly Go office and headed for the elevator. As he waited, he happened to catch a glimpse into one of the playing rooms.

Two boys were sitting at different Go boards, one blonde, a closed fan lying by his side, the other dark. Both were fixing their opponents with deadly gazes, playing as if their lives depended on it. Both were giving off an air of charisma, of mastery of the game.

Ishii smiled to himself. *I may have to lay low now,* he thought, *but I *will* make the two of you stars someday.*

And with that, he boarded the elevator and headed downstairs.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

I’d wanted to do a story about a couple being forcibly outed for a long time -- in fact, this story grew out of a germ of an idea I'd had for a Kaikan Phrase story years ago. Aishuu helped me develop the version you see here.

Many, many thanks to Steve Savage and Aishuu for their invaluable input. Thanks also to my Go Go Neko friends and to everyone who commented on Balance Parts 1 and 2. Parts 4 and 5 of the series have already been written, and will be posted after this fic!

Hikaru no Go is property of Yumi Hotta, Takeshi Obata and Shueisha. These characters ain't mine, I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
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