• 1-Balance
• 2-Part 1: Spiritual 3/4
• 3-Part 1: Spiritual 4/4
• 4-Part 2: Physical 1/3
• 5-Part 2, Physical 2/3
• 6-Balance Part 2: Physical (3/3)
• 7-Part 3 Social 1/4
• 8-Balance Part 3: Emotional 2/4
• 9-Part 3 Social 3/4
• 10-Part 3 Social 4/4
• 11-Part 4: Mental 1/3
• 12-Part 4: Mental 2/3
• 13-Part 4: Mental 3/3
• 14-Part 5: Emotional 1/4
• 15-Part 5: Emotional 2/4
• 16-Part 5: Emotional 3/4
• 17-Part 5: Emotional 4/4
• 18-Part 1, Spiritual, Chapter 1
• 19-Part 1, Spiritual, Chapter 2

BALANCE
A Hikaru no Go Sekkushiaru Roman Series
By Sailor Mac

PART FIVE: EMOTIONAL (3/4)

Akira sank down in the water, closing his eyes. Usually, a soak like this made his tension go away and put him in a relaxed, mellow mood.

That wasn’t happening tonight>
*How could you, Father?* he thought. *You didn’t even give me a chance to talk about my life, in phone or on person. You just thrust the life *you* wanted at me and expected me to just take it.*

He felt sorry for the girl who had been dragged into this mess. He wondered how the matchmaker had found her, since, as she’d noted, she usually didn’t work with people his age.

*Probably the younger sister of one of her clients,* she thought. *And I’m sure once her parents heard their daughter had a chance to be hooked up with a professional Go player who’s won tournaments, they jumped at it.*

He moved his arms up and down, feeling the resistance of the water. Hikaru’s face flickered into his mind, with the expression he’d had upon hearing about the evening -- a mixture of confusion, sadness and anger.

*I wish he didn’t have to see me like that,* he thought. *Usually, *he* is the only thing that can make me lose control of myself.*

He was doubly glad he didn’t have a game the next day. He didn’t know if he’d be up to his usual level of concentration. And he wanted to absolutely *annihilate* his opponent during his next game -- almost as an “I’ll show you!” to his father.

Akira got out of the tub and reached for a towel. No point in staying in the bath any longer if it wasn’t going to help. He was just going to try going to bed.

But he knew sleep would not come easily, either.

* * *

Hikaru left the insei classroom, heading for the anteroom. He grabbed his shoes and shoved his feet into them, tying them as fast as he could.

He was in a hurry to get out of there today, because he wanted to do something special for Akira. He wasn’t surat iat it was just yet -- a cake to have with tea after dinner, maybe, or one of the new Go books he knew he had his eye on.

*He left the apartment before I was even up this morning,* he thought. *I had no chance to see what kind of mood he was in.*

Getting up from the bench, he rushed into the hall, headed for the elevator -- and literally bumped into someone. He staggered back, saying, “Sorry!” -- and then got a good look at who it was.

new new that piercing, icy gaze anywhere, and the weathered face that could be Akira’s several decades from now. Though he no longer wore traditional dress all the time in his retirement, he still had an air of regality, as if he were a nobleman from many centuries ago transported into the present time.

And he was the last person on the planet Hikaru wanted to see at that moment.

“T-Touya Meijin . . .” Hikaru said, bowing rapidly.

The older man regarded him with an icier stare than usual, and said, “I haven’t seen you around here much lately, Shindou.”

Hikaru rubbed the back of his head, his eyes squeezed shut, and said, “Well, that is, I’ve been . . .”

“I must tell you how deeply disappointed I am in you.”

Hikaru’s eyes flew open. “You . . . but . . .”

“I will always have the utmost respect for you as a player,” the retired champion continued, folding his arms as if he were still wearing the voluminous sleeves he used to tuck his hands into. “But you turned out to be deeply flawed as a person.”

That touched off something in Hikaru. He knew he wasn’t going to be polite any longer. “Listen!” he said, his voice rising, a look of anger crossing his face. “I don’t know what kind of rumors you heard, but I did *not* seduce your son! Or try to ruin his career! Or use him to help *my* career!”

“I know all that,” the former Meijin said, his frosty gaze unblinking. “But you showed serious errors in judgment, and you influenced Akira to do so as well.”

Around them, people were stopping in the hall, turning to look, whispering to each other. This only served to make Hikaru more incensed. He regarded Touya Koyou with his coldest, hardest gaze, the one reserved for only the toughest opponents, and said, “There were no *errors*. We both know exactly what we’re doing.”

“You’re too young to know something like that,” the older man replied. “I’m now trying to help Akira find his correct path in life. I suggest you reconsider yours, as well.”

“There’s nothing to reconsider!” Hikaru said. He noticed an elevator arriving on the floor, its doors starting to open. He rushed over to it -- he had to get out, get away from the building.

In the elevator, he clenched his fists, fighting back tears of rage. How *dare* the Meijin say those things to him? Like he’d actually *planned* for them to fall in love, have a traumatic outing that had screwed things up for both of them . . .

But he knew that this hurt worse than all the rejections and badmouthing they’d faced since they were outed. Because he’d lost the respect of someone who’d been behind him his whole Go career.

The doors opened, and he rushed out of the building, heading out into the street. He made a left, started toward the subway -- and literally bumped into *another* person.

A very large person, in fact.

“Ooof!” said Kurata, rubbing his considerable stomach as if injured. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, kid?”

“Sorry, but I’m in no mood to watch where I’m going,” Hikaru replied.

Kurata blinked a couple of times, and then realized that the person who’d plowed into him was one of his charges from the Hokuto Cup. “Oh, it’s you, Shindou. How goes things?”

“Today?” Hikaru said, crossing his arms and scowling. “Crappy.”

“Well, why don’t we go out for ramen? We haven’t done that in awhile. My treat! After all, I *am* going to have a lot of money when I take that Meijin title . . .”

Hikaru groaned inwardly. *Here we go again,* he thought. *In Kurata’s head, he’s the heir apparent to every title in Japan, and then some.*

“I don’t want your money,” he said. “I can pay for myself. But I’ll go. I need the break.”

“So what’s this about having a crappy day?” the hulking 7-dan said as they turned and headed for the all-too-familiar ramen stand.

Hikaru debated whether to tell him everything, but settled for just saying, “Oh, just someone giving me a hard time about my ‘lifestyle choice.’”

“You’re kidding,” Kurata said as they entered the restaurant and quickly found seats -- the place was nearly deserted, as they were there between the lunch and dinner rush periods. “Why the hell do people make a fuss over that?”

He signaled the server to bring them two bowls, then turned back to Hikaru. "So, you're different. Big deal. So am I. You're gay, I'm fat. What difference does it make? You’re just the same as everyone else except for one thing. And that one thing isn’t that big a deal, when it comes right down to it. Wish more people would realize that."

Hikaru was relieved to hear that -- it was one of the most sympathetic opinions he'd gotten since the outing.

“People need to grow up and face reality sometimes,” he mumbled, picking up his chopsticks as a bowl of soup was placed in front of him.

“Exactly,” Kurata said. “Hey, you’re happy, right?”

Hikaru nodded, enthusiastically, as he slurped noodles into his mouth

"And it’s the same thing with me,” said Kurata, scooping up some noodles of his own. “I may take up more room on the subway, but so what? I play Go. You play Go. All those people who were giving you a hard time, chances are, they play Go as well. And that’s more important than how big you are or who you’re kissing.”

“Yes!” Hikaru said, feeling some of the gloom from before starting to lift out of his heart. “Exactly!”

“Let's face it, I may not look like a movie star, but you're honored to be seen with a future Meijin, aren't you?"

That did it -- it was Kurata as usual. Hikaru flung down his chopsticks. "I am not HONORED! You said so yourself, you're just another player like me!"

"Hey, is that any way to talk to a future Honinbou, kid?"

"You just said you wanted the Meijin title," Hikaru grumbled, going back to his ramen.

"No reason I can't have both, right?" He dug into his food with gusto, saying, “Mark my words, kid, that signed fan I gave you is going to be worth a lot of money someday.”

“I never wanted that fan,” Hikaru mumbled into his food. “And you only signed part of your name.”

“I told you I’d finish the signature when you beat me. That may be a long time from now. But hey, you’ll be able to tell everyone you beat a future Kisei!”

Hikaru just buried his face in his bowl. As usual, Kurata's appetite was matched only by his ego.

* * *

Akira was sitting in the living room reading a textbook when Hikaru walked in.

“I don’t think I’m gonna have much dinner tonight,” he said. “I bumped into Kurata, we went for ramen.”

“How was the rest of your day?” Akira said, putting his book down.

Hikaru sighed, deeply. How could he tell Akira this? He sat down on the couch and said, “I ran into your father.”

Akira’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

“I bumped into him in the hall at the Go Institute . . .”

Akira took a deep breath, fighting to calm himself. Then, he said, “All right -- tell me about it.”

Hikaru recounted the entire conversation, watching Akira’s face. When he came to the part where the Meijin told him that he’d made serious errors in judgment, Akira looked away, his whole body stiffening.

“It’s one thing for him to think those things about me,” he said, “for him to interfere in my private life . . . but when he drags you into it . . .”

Hikaru put a hand on his shoulder, as he did the night before. *Why does it feel like this is the only thing I can do?* “Akira . . .”

“He has no right to say those things about you!” Akira cried. “He doesn’t understand you . . . he doesn’t understand *me* anymore . . .”

“I tried to talk to him,” Hikaru said. “He wouldn’t let me.”

“Just like with me . . .” Akira was nearly trembling with fury.

Hikaru was getting increasingly frustrated. Akira was just feeling worse and worse, and he couldn’t think of anything to say or do.

*I have to suggest something,* Hikaru thought. *I’ve got to do *something* for him . . .”

Our loud, he said, “Akira . . . why don’t you go take a shower and a bath? You’ll feel better.”

*Would that help?* Akira thought. *I tried that last night, it didn’t do any good.*

But there was one thing he knew would distract him. And, before he knew it, he was saying, “Will you share it with me?”

*Well, at least that’s *something* I can do to help,* Hikaru thought. “Sure,” he said, bringing his lips to Akira’s.

They headed for the bathroom, hand-in-hand, no words necessary. Once they got there, Akira started the water, while Hikaru unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it on the floor.

“Here,” he said, coming up behind Akira, “let me help you.” He reached around his body, wanting to unbutton his shirt and slide it down slowly, sensually . . .

But he couldn’t find the buttons. His hands scrabbled around the front of his shirt -- *Dammit, where are they?* he thought. *I could have sworn I had the right place. Wait, maybe if I move a little to the . . .*

“Hikaru,” Akira said, “what are you doing?”

Hikaru pulled back, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry . . . I just thought I’d give you a little . . .”

Akira stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. “There -- that’s done.” His pants and underwear soon landed beside it.

Hikaru stripped off his own remaining clothes -- what else could he do at this point? -- and followed Akira under the water. He grabbed a bath sponge, squeezed shower gel onto it and began to rub it along the other boy’s back.

Akira tilted back a bit, letting out a small hum of pleasure. *Well, he likes it,* Hikaru thought. *Maybe I can get him to relax yet.*

Hikaru squeezed some gel directly on his hands and began to knead Akira’s shoulders. He could feel the tension and stiffness there -- it was as if he had a hundred bowstrings stretched to their utmost under his skin. He moved his hands down Akira’s arms, toward his fingertips, then back up across his shoulders again, working from the outer edges in toward the spine, then out again.

Akira found himself surrendering to Hikaru’s ministrations quite rapidly. The boy was far from a trained masseur -- his pressure was sometimes a bit too much, sometimes just short of enough -- but nothing he was doing was painful, and the feel of his fingers gliding over soap-slicked skin was pleasant enough in itself.

“Mmmm,” Akira said, leaning back against Hikaru.

Hikaru began to rub down Akira’s back, sliding his hands down to the juncture where his bottom began, then up again, then down. Now his muscles were starting to loosen, and Akira moved back a little more.

Hikaru pressed his full body against his lover’s, leaning over to kiss Akira’s neck, then his ear. His own body was starting to respond to the contact, and a rising erection was pressing against Akira’s bottom, making Hikaru, almost unconsciously, thrust his hips a little,

Akira became all too aware of the sensation, of his lover’s growing arousal, and he thrust his hips back, moving them in a slow grind, shifting so Hikaru’s manhood was rubbing along the cleft of his bottom. He leaned his head back and pulled Hikaru’s down so they could kiss, tongues rapidly reaching for each other, stroking, pushing in and out.

Hikaru moved against his lover, wet skin sliding on wet skin, nerve endings on edge, every bit of sensation just making his blood feel so much closer to boiling. He ran a hand over Akira’s chest, finding a nipple, brushing his fingers lightly over it before taking it in his thumb and forefinger and lightly squeezing.

Akira let out a moan, leaning his head back against Hikaru’s shoulder as the blond brought both hands to both hardened buds, rubbing them with his thumbs, then squeezing lightly, then fluttering his fingers over them. “Oh . . . gods, Hikaru!” he gasped. “Good . . . it feels so good . . .”

When Hikaru’s hands eased away, Akira whirled around, pulling the boy in his arms and crushing their mouths together, his tongue hungrily probing as one hand reached down for his lover’s erection. Gripping it gently, but firmly, he began an up-and-down stroke, pausing a moment to circle his fingertips over the head before pumping again.

Hikaru let out a loud groan, his head starting to spin as Akira stroked and caressed, the same hand that had caused him pain over numerous defeats at the goban now giving him pleasure, such incredible, intense, mind-blowing pleasure.

Akira moved slowly to his knees, not missing a stroke, and took Hikaru’s nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, raising his head to flick his tongue over it, then sucking again.

Hikaru’s head was thrown back, his mouth open in a gasp, his breath coming in ragged pants. He thrust his hips in time with Akira’s stroking, pushed his chest toward his mouth, and felt hot pressure growing in his belly, threatening to explode at any moment.

“Akira,” he moaned. “I need to . . .”

Akira responded to this by bringing one hand down to the sac beneath his erection, caressing it gently while he switched his mouth to the other nipple, sucking hard. His other hand rubbed along the head of his maleness, then quickly pumped the shaft.

Hikaru felt the pleasure that had been building within him suddenly explode, a white-hot shower of sparks from the depths of his very being, and he cried out, trembling with ecstasy again and again and again.

He sagged, and Akira came up to catch him, kissing him hard. Hikaru returned it eagerly, his arms coming up to wrap around the dark-haired boy and pull him closer.

As their lips parted, Hikaru smiled slyly and said,
our our turn.”

He knelt in front of Akira, beginning to lay light kisses up and down the length of his lover’s erection. Akira leaned back against the side of the shower, his eyes closing, his lips parting as a small groan escaped them.

Hikaru ran his tongue in rapid swirls over the head, reaching up with his hands to find his nipples. He never knew another man’s nipples could be so fascinating, but he loved doing this to Akira. He loved how they hardened beneath his touch, the texture of them, the different responses he would get from doing different things to them -- a moan for a finger-flick, a gasp for a squeeze, a soft chant of his name as he rubbed them both firmly with his thumbs.

Now, he placed his palms flat over the nubs and rubbed straight up and down as he took him into his mouth deeper, as deep as he could manage comfortably, and started a hard suction. He moved back and forth, in and out rapidly, as his hands mirrored the motions of his mouth.

Akira could only moan, tangling his fingers in Hikaru’s hair, giving himself over totally to waves of sensation. The hot wetness encircling his manhood, the fingers playing over his nipples, squeezing and stroking and tickling . . .

Only one thing was missing. Akira reached down, grabbed one of Hikaru’s hands and pushed it down and back.

Hikaru got the message. He ran the hand down to Akira’s bottom and squeezed it, caressed it, let his fingers tease the cleft. His mouth continued to suck, his other hand to pleasure his nipples.

“Don’t stop!” Akira cried as he writhed, pleasure seeming to flood him from everysitisitive area, coming together as a scorching heat at the very core of his being, making him feel like he was trembling at the edge and was going to go over any moment.

Then, the world froze in place, and suddenly he was overwhelmed by one wave after another of electric sensation, making him tremble and cry out until he was utterly limp.

Hikaru held on until the last drop of Akira’s essence had poured into his mouth. He swallowed it, stood up and kissed his lover gently. Akira, still moaning softly, clung tightly to Hikaru.

They remained like that for a long moment, their arms wrapped around each other, just enjoying being close.

Hikaru pulled back. “We didn’t get washed at all,” he said, softly.

“Oh,” Akira said. In his sleepy, sated daze, he had completely forgotten that this shower was supposed to be a prelude to a soak in the tub.

“Hey, we could still do it,” Hikaru said, handing him the shower gel.

Akira smiled, gently. “Yes, while we’re here, we might as well -- but I don’t think I’ll need that soak in the bathtub now.”

They passed the tube back and forth, washing up in a businesslike matter, trying to get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“Oh, did I tell you Keiko’s taking us shopping tomorrow?” Hikaru said.

That brought Akira back to reality. “Shopping?”

“Yep, for stuff for the dinner party. She said she found a great place where we can get everything we need.”

Akira groaned inwardly. He’d rarely seen the inside of a grocery store before moving in with Hikaru -- it had just never been something that was necessary. His mother had always taken care of the shopping, he’d never been one of those kids who got sent to the store for a quart of milk or a bag of rice.

His mother knew all too well that most of his time would be spent in a Go salon.

*Well,* Akira thought, *those days are over. I’m an adult now. I’m living with the love of my life. And if that means I have to go on shopping trips -- so be it.*

“Where and when?” he said.

* * *

Akira had always felt overwhelmed when he went into a supermarket. The kind of mega-market Kyoko had taken himself and Hikaru to was beyond overwhelming -- it was absolutely mind-boggling. There was just *so much* of everything -- the bins upon bins of fruits and vegetables, great, lumpy swatches of red, yellow and green; the bags of rice ranging from squat little one-pound sacks to enormous ones that looked like they’d take a dump truck to lift; the bewildering amounts of brand choices for everything from curry mixes to soba noodles . . .

*I’ll let Shindou and Kyoko-san handle this,* he thought. *It’s just too much.*

“Now, how many people are we feeding?” Kyoko said as she pushed the cart up toward the meat counter.

“Let’s see,” said Hikaru. “You and your husband, the two of us, Waya-kun, Isumi-san, Akari-chan, Kaga-san, Mitani-kun . . .

“Nine people, then,” Kyoko said. “You probably want to count on a pound of meat for every person.” She took two packages out of the case and put them in the cart. “And you’re going to want to serve sushi before the main meal, right?” She headed for the fish counter.

“Um, Kyoko-san, they have a counter over there where you can buy pre-make sushi,” Hikaru said.

She turned to him with a smile. “What’s the fun of that? Besides, I thought you wanted me to help you lean to cook! We’re going to do sushi rolls from scratch.”

Hikaru blanched. Just the *thought* of trying to get all that stuff -- fish, rice, vegetables -- precisely stuffed in neat little rolls of seaweed was intimidating. “Um, I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun. Now, we’ll get some toro -- toro is *always* dependable, just about everyone likes it -- and some eel.” She added the packages to their basket. “Next thing we need to find is nori . . .”

Hikaru groaned. “Please, don’t men nor nori.”

“Why not?” Kyoko said, easily navigating the cart through the crowds like the practiced shopper she was. “You don’t like nori?”

“No, my cousin’s band was on Iron , th, the ingredient was nori, and it was all he talked about afterward. We had a family party about a week after it aired and . . .”

Akira hung back behind them, wishing he were at the Go Institute. Heck, he wished he were just about anywhere but here.

And then, he saw someone familiar out of the corner of his eye -- a blonde girl, rather tall for her young age and a bit round in the hips. It was the girl his parents had tried to set him up with. He tried to move quickly, so she wouldn’t notice him, but she saw him anyway.

“Touya?” she said. “Touya Akira? It’s me, Yamada Kasako.”

“Oh, hello,” he said, bowing politely. “Listen, Yamada-san, I need to talk to you . . .”

“Oh?” Akira could see the girl’s eyes shimmering with hope. *She’s waiting for me to ask her on that date,* he thought.

“I apologize for you being dragged into that situation,” he said. “My father went to the matchmaker without my knowledge. I have no desire to be set up in a relationship. You see, there’s already someone I’m involved with, and . . .”

To his great surprise, the girl’s face broke out in a wide smile. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”

Akira was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“I knew who you were, and when my father told me you’d gone to a marriage broker and wanted to meet *me* -- well, I was disappointed.” She smiled a bit, sweetly. “I knew you and Shindou-san were a couple, I’d seen the pictures, and I thought you were adorable together.”

And then, Akira caught sight of the bag dangling from her hand. It was from the bookstore adjacent to the supermarket, and through the plastic, he could see the faint image of a magazine cover showing two impossibly pretty boys embracing.

Akira almost laughed at the irony of it. The girl his father tried to use to cure him of his homosexuality was a yaoi fangirl. Knowing that made the tension of being around her race out of him -- indeed, he felt more comfortable around her than he usually did around people his own age.

“How did you end up in this mess, anyway?” Akira said.

The girl brushed back a lock of her shoulder-length hair. “That old bat found husbands for every one of my sisters, and I guess my parents wanted to give her a head start with me. Never mind that I keep telling them I want to go to college and be a teacher, and then choose my *own* husband.”

*Or maybe that’s *why* they did it,* Akira thought. *She’s in the same boat that I am -- she’s fighting an ultra-traditional family.*

“Anyway, I went along with it because my father wanted me to,” she said, switching her bag to the other hand. “And I felt uncomfortable the whole time. I’m not letting him do that again.”

“You shouldn’t,” Akira said. “You should do what *you* want to do.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Well, I gotta go -- seeya!” And she rushed off into the crowd.

Akira heaved a sigh of relief. The crisis was over, thank the gods.

*For now*, he thought. *Who’s to say your father isn’t going to try this again?*

And then, the relief became a sinking feeling in his stomach. Because he knew very well his father would.
___________

Hikaru no Go is property of Yumi Hotta, Takeshi Obata and Shueisha. No profit is being made from this fanfic.