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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 TWO/PHYSICAL (2/3)

Akira looked out the front window of the Touya home for what felt like the umpteenth ttime.

*He’s late,* he thought. *Well, what else is new? He’s late all the time!*

He walked over to the couch and sat down gently, picking up a copy of Weekly Go that was on the coffee table. He flipped through it idly, but couldn’t really focus.

His stomach was churning with a curious mixture of emotions. Excitement, anticipation, fear -- the same way he had felt a seeming eternity ago when he was about to face Shindou in the junior high Go tournament.

*Is this really all that different?* he thought as he folded the newspaper up and tossed it back on the table. *I really want this to happen, and yet . . .*

Akira took a deep breath to calm himself, telling himself that they didn’t *have* to have sex that night, they could just make out and pleasure each other in the same ways that they’d been doing.

But everything within him was saying that it was time. They both wanted it so badly that it literally hurt -- a dull ache in the very pit of his stomach.

When the knock came on his door, he jumped a bit, then took another long breath, willing his nerves to calm. He stood up and crossed the room, then threw the door open.

There on the doorstep was Shindou, looking a bit frazzled. “Hi!” he said, walking into the living room, his backpack slung over his shoulder as usual. “Sorry, the trip to the drugstore took longer than I thought. And then I checked my cell phone, and there was a message from Waya, so I had to call him back before I came over here. They’re giving me a party, can you believe it? All my friends from when I was an insei . . . to celebrate my making the Honinbou League.”

“I know,” Akira said, wishing those butterflies in his stomach would just go away. He wondered what Shindou was feeling at that moment. That look on his face was probably from his experience at the drugstore, whatever it had been.

Hikaru frowned a bit. “You do?”

“Yes. Ochi called me and invited me to come.” Akira reached up and began to fiddle with his collar -- even faster than he normally would.

“Ochi did?” Hikaru’s face bore a look of pure surprise. Akira wondered again what was going on behind that surface.

Akira decided to change the subject -- he didn’t feel like discussing Shindou’s friends, who he knew didn’t think that highly of him. Not that it really bothered him -- he was used to that kind of thing by now.

“Well, that party’s still a few days away -- what do you want to do tonight?”

“Um, well . . . “ Hikaru reached down and began to twist the strap of his backpack around his finger. “We could always play . . . or watch a movie, I brought some DVDs with me . . . or . . .”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air between the two of them, neither one of them wanting to finish that sentence. Saying it out loud would make it concrete, make it a definite, instead of the *possibility* it was right now. And once it was definite, there was no backing out, no turning back.

Akira said, quickly, “Or, why don’t you we look at that Web site you said Waya found, that kifu archive . . .”

“Oh, yeah!” Hikaru said, leaping to his feet, his face bearing a look of relief. “I’ve got the address somewhere . . .” He bent over to fumble in one of the pockets of his backpack, and Akira looked away, not wanting to be caught staring at his “hot ass.”

It wasn’t so much he didn’t want to be caught by Hikaru is he didn’t want his head to fill with fantasies at the sight of it. He was afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and . . . no, he didn’t want to think of it.

As the boys entered Akira’s bedroom, he suddenly regretted his suggestion. Why didn’t he remember that they’d been surfing the net together the first night they had ended up on his futon? Not that ending up on the futon would be a *bad* thing, just . . .

*Gods,* he thought, *why can’t sex be easier? Why does it have to be such a *major* thing?** * *

Hikaru watched Akira type in the Web address and bring up the kifu archive. Oh, he’d wanted to see this site -- Waya had said it was a record of all tournament games played under the aegis of the Go Institute in the years following World War II, plus a separate archive of columns and commentaries on all the major title matches during that time. But he knew it was just an excuse to fill time, to put off the inevitable.

*What was I supposed to say when he asked me what I wanted to do tonight?* Hikaru thought. *Tell him the truth? Say, “I want to go upstairs, tear off your clothes, push you down on the futon and make you moan every way I know how, and then have you make love to me?”*

His eyes traveled from the screen to his unzipped backpack, where a bit of the drugstore bag was peeking out. He thought about its contents, the K-Y tube and the condom package. What had seemed like an embarassment in the store was now transfomed into a bag of raw sex, of hot potential.

He forced himself to look back at the kifu. *I can’t let myself get too worked up,* he thought. *What if he’s not in the mood tonight? What if he’s really not ready to go all the way? But he is, isn’t he? Why else would he do research?*

“Shindou!”

Hikaru jumped a bit at the sound of Akira’s voice. “Yes, yes, I heard you.”

“No, you didn’t. I just asked you if there was anything in particular you wanted to see.”

“Um, well . . .” He tried to think fast. “Can we look at some of the tournaments Kuwabara played in when he was younger?”

Akira frowned a bit. “You never seemed particularly interested in his games before.”

“I know, but . . . hey, I’m in the Honinbou League now, right? And he’s the Honinbou. If I make it all the way to the title round . . .”

Akira leaned over. “You? Make the title round?”

“It could happen, right? Anything could happen!” Hikaru found himself reaching down and fiddling with the zipper on his backpack, pulling it back a bit -- exposing more of the bag -- and pushing it closed again, then repeating the process.

Akira turned to face him, his eyes narrowing -- not quite the full game-face glare, but an early stages version of it. “Shindou, people usually don’t make title rounds until they’ve been in tournament play for *years*! My father had been a pro for nearly a decade before he got past the preliminary rounds!”

*Oh, crap,* Hikaru thought. *He’s on his history-of-Go high horse, and that usually means a fight. Can’t let that happen tonight, can’t let that happen tonight, can’t let that happen tonight . . .*

He said quickly, “Why don’t we look at your father’s games instead? I haven’t seen any of his kifu from before I got into Go.”

Akira shrugged a bit, then called up the kifu from the first tournt hit his father won, the Tengen. Hikaru feigned interest in it, leaning toward the screen.

*Gods, why did I suggest this?* he thought. *Now we’ll probably be doing this for hours. Why didn’t I just say, “Look, Akira, I don’t want to look at kifu anymore. Just get out your futon and take off your clothes.” That’s what I really want to do. I want to touch him . . . I want him to touch me . . . I want to feel him inside me . . .*

Almost involuntarily, his hand moved past his chair toward Akira’s, snaking slowly toward his leg.

* * *

Akira was glad to have a kifu to explain in detail. It kept him from *thinking*.

All this time, he had been aware of the *nearness* of Hikaru . . . especially when the boy had leaned over to get a closer look at the screen. Just a few more inches, and their lips would have met . . .

And if their lips had met, it was almost guaranteed that a whole lot else would soon be meeting as well.

“This is really the hand that won it for him,” Akira said, pointing to the screen. “He cut his opponent off and backed him into a corner, forced him to try to shore up the weak stones over there -- but it was too little, too late. He then tried to attack this group, over . . .”

There was a hand brushing Akira’s thigh. First the back of the fingers, rubbing back and forth slowly over thde ode of it . . . and then slipping up and over, toward the more sensitive area.

Akira swallowed hard and tried to talk normally. “Over here . . . there were still some vulnerabitilites, but my father figured out what was going on, and . . .”

The hand had reached his inner thigh, gently kneading the sensitve flesh, begining to move in circles. Akira closed his eyes, gasping a bit . . . then he turned his head and opened them.

Blues mes met green in a moment that seemed suspended in eternity, both boys gazing at each other as if hypnotized.

Then, suddenly, Akira leaned over, and his lips claimed Hikaru’s with ferocity.

Hikaru wasted no time -- his lips parted, his tongue darting into Akira’s mouth as his arms wrapped around his lover. They tilted backward, Akira tipping the chair almost back to the fall-over point, Hikaru leaning forward eagerly.

Hikaru’s lips left Akira’s only long enough for him to sweep his tongue up and down the other boy’s neck, then plunge it between his lips again, one hand reaching up for the buttons of his shirt. *One of these days, I have to talk him into wearing pullovers,* Hikaru thought as he struggled to force the round of plastic through a hole that seemed half its size.

Akira gently pushed him away. “Let me . . .” He unbuttoned the shirt and tossed it on the floor, then got up out of his seat, moving rapidly to the closet, pulling out his futon. Hikaru stripped off his own shirt as he watched the other boy hastily make up the bed -- and then, after a moment’s pause, unzipped his jeans as well. It wasn’t as if they weren’t coming off anyway.

When Akira was done, he looked up and saw an exquisite vision -- Hikaru, completely naked and erect, moving slowly toward him. A shudder of desire passed through him -- the reality of his lover surpassed even the fantasies he’d had the night before.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, a slight huskiness in his voice.

Hikaru folded his arms, a sly smile stealing across his face. “I’d say the same thing about you,” he said, “but I need to see *all* of you first.”

Akira quickly dropped the remainder of his clothing to the floor. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

“Oh, gods, yes,” Hikaru said, pulling Akira into his arms again. They kissed hungrily, mouths opening almost instantly, Hikaru’s tongue finding and stroking Akira’s.

Akira slid his hands down the other boy’s back, until he encountered what he had been thinking about the night before -- that fabulous bottom. Gently rounded, firm, yielding as he squeezed, then released, then squeezed again.

Hikaru leaned his head back, his eyes closed, letting out a long, low moan. He wrapped a leg around Akira’s hip, begining a slight thrust that brought their erections in contact with each other.

“Good,” Hikaru moaned. “So good . . .”

Akira leaned over so his lips were right against the other boy’s ear. “So sexy,” he breathed, kissing hotly around the little hole. “You’re so delicious . . .” He began to nibble on the lobe, as he’d imagined doing before, and was rewarded with a louder moan.

“Yes,” Hikaru gasped as his own hands grasped Akira’s bottom, rubbing it with an up-and-down motion, then squeezing the right cheek, then the left, then both together. Their hips thrust faster, their erections brushing together, sending hot, tingling sensations through both boys.

They groaned and panted, their cheeks flushing with passion as their lips came together for small, eager kisses, touching just enough for both to feel it, fwed wed by a deep, hungry one, tongues teasing and brushing.

Hikaru eased away, sinking down to the futon, holding his hand out to Akira. When the other boy lay next to him, Hikaru grasped him by the shoulders, pinning him to the mattress like a child wrestling a schoolmate. He lowered his head, wrapping his lips around a nipple, and started to suck, hard.

Akira let out a small cry, arching upward. Yes, Hikaru had figured out by now what he liked, what felt good to him. This part of sex came naturally to them now.

He cried out louder when his lover reached down with a single finger, stroking it up and down his shaft . . . oh, gods, it felt so different than when Akira had done it to himself, so much nicer . . . and began circling slowly around the head. His mouth shifted to the other nipple, his tongue coming out to lick at it, running in slow circles around the pink surrounding the bud.

“Suck it,” Akira gasped, his hips thrusting forward into Hikaru’s touch. When Hikaru obeyed, his mouth tugging on him in long, slow draws, Akira’s insides turned to rapidly melting butter, and he started to writhe, his hand clutching at the bedding.

Hikaru’s finger trailed down to the sac beneath his erection as his mouth continued to work on his nipple . . . sucking hard, then taking it out and licking, then sucking again. As he stroked, he felt his lover shudder beneath him, and that brought on a shiver of heat deep within himslef.

He knew he couldn’t get Akira *too* worked up, or his lover would come before he got a chance to get inside Hikaru. And that was the last thing the boy wanted. He was starting to feel a deep, longing ache to be filled . . . combined with a bit of fear, because he didn’t know what said filling would *feel* like.

Hikaru eased back . . . only to find himself flipped over so he was lying flat-out on the futon. And the next thing he felt was a luscious, hot wetness wrapped around his manhood, a gentle, firm suction, a hand sliding up over his stomach, seeking a nipple. When it connected, Hikaru leaned back, gasping, his blond bangs falling softly over his closed eyes.

Akira moved his head back and forth faster, taking Hikaru in as deep as he comfortably could. He knew it was important to have the boy as aroused and relaxed as possible.

And this wasn’t exactly a hardship for him. He loved the solid feel of the boy’s maleness against his lips and tongue, the texture as it slid back and forth, the way his nipple hardened under his stroking.

*Now,* he thought. *I should start putting my fingers in him now, when he’s hot and relaxed and moaning.*

There was one small problem. He had no idea where the lube was.

He raised his head. “Um . . . Hikaru . . . where’s the lubricant?”

Hikaru blinked. “Why did you stop?”

“I stopped because I need the lube.”

“Geez! I didn’t know we were ready for that yet!” He got off the futon and walked to the computer, grabbing the condoms and K-Y out of the drugstore bad and bringing them back to Akira.

“You don’t want me to put a finger in there without lube, do you?” Akira said, opening the outer cardboard box and removing the tube.

Hikaru shuddered -- he remembered the first time they made love, how he’d tried to penetrate Akira with an unlubed finger, how Akira had reacted with a yelp of pain. That definitely w#146#146;t anything he wanted to happen to him.

“You could have asked for it before,” Hikaru said, lying flat on his stomach.

Akira was going to tell him that he didn’t need to do that, that they could go back to the position they were just in -- except Hikaru’s bottom was presenting him with a tantalizing possibility.

He’d fantasized about making love to that “hot ass” all this time. He might as well make love to it fully.

He began to stroke the gentle curve, rubbing back and forth a bit, then massaging, his fingers kneading circles in the skin. He heard Hikaru give a small “mmm” noise.

Akira took the cheeks in both hands, squeezing firmly as he did before, then releasing, then sqeezing again. He rubbed both thumbs up and down over both sides a few times, then firmly massaged the whole thing again.

*I wonder when I’m going to know that he’s ready*, he thought. *The site said your partner has to be completely relaxed. He seems relaxed now, but . . . is it enough?*

He leaned over and began to lay soft kisses over the right cheek, feeling Hikaru arch up against him . . . oh, yes, Hikaru liked what he was doing. Encouraged, he started to nibble, leaving little bites, his teeth barely touching the skin.

Hikaru moaned in pleasure, both hands gripping the bedding, his head buried in the pillow. He pushed up against Akira’s mouth, groaning louder as he felt little tongue-swirls over the areas Akira had just been biting . . . and then his lips were on the other cheek, kissing hard, then nibbling, and then *sucking* on one spot, making the boy throw back his head and let out a long, low, throaty sound.

His erection was throbbing and feeling like it was going to burst. His whole body felt like tense piano wires, every part of his being thrumming with exquisite sensation.

Then, Akira lifted his head, and Hikaru groaned in disappointment. There was a soft, squishing sound . . .

And suddenly, something cold and hard was thrust into the crack between his cheeks, battering against his opening like a tree trunk being pounded into the gates of a fortress. He sprang away like a frog hopping away from a predator, landing at the very top of the futon.

Akira was mortified. “Sorry!” he stammered.

“What was that?” Hikaru said, his hands grabbing his bottom defensively. “It felt like you were trying to shove a telephone pole up there!”

“I was trying to be careful!” Akira replied, picking up the tube again.

“You weren’t succeeding!” Hikaru said, rubbing his bottom a bit.

“Look, maybe the position wasn’t good,” said Akira, unscrewing the cap. “Maybe you should try lying on your back, with your legs up.”

Hikaru lay back, raising his legs until they were almost all the way over his head. “This isn’t very comfortable,” he grumbled.

“You’re not supposed to be a contortionist!” Akira said. “Look, just raise them a little.”

Hikaru lowered his legs, until they were just high enough to expose Akira’s goal. *Now I have to get him excited again*, Akira thought. *I can’t just pick up where we left off.*

He leaned over and began to lay kisses along Hikaru’s inner thigh, nibbling at the skin a little like he’d done with his bottom. As he moved his head down, bit by bit, he opened the tube again, lubing his right index finger.

His left hand reached up and wrapped around Hikaru’s erection, starting a rapid stroke as his tongue swept up and down his thigh. When he fluttered his fingers over the head and was rewarded with a deep groan, he knew the time was right to try again.

*Go slower this time,* he told himself.

Very gently, he pushed his finger up between the cheeks and found the opening. Instead of pressing against it, he tried massaging it a little, rubbing his finger in tiny circles. He was rewarded when it opened a bit, just enough to slide in, oh-so-carefully, by degrees.

He felt the muscles tense a bit, and he paused until they relaxed, when he began the slow pushing again. So far, so good . . .

Hikaru tried to concentrate on what he was feeling, but he couldn’t put a word to it. It just felt *odd*. It felt *full*, like he was being stretched -- not painful, not really pleasurable, either.

And then, pain *did* hit, and he jumped and yelped. Akira’s finger stopped, but didn’t pull out. “Hikaru?”

“That hurt!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Did he? He didnt really know. He didn’t want it to *hurt* anymore . . . but if he stopped now, he’s never know what all-the-way sex was like.

Hikaru took a deep breath. *This has gotta be part of it,* he thought. *People do this all the time, right? Why would people do something that’s going to hurt? The pain has to go away.*

“Keep going,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Akira’s face bore a look of genuine concern.

“Yes. Go on.”

Akira pushed forward a bit more, and Hikaru gritted his teeth when more pain came . .. and sudenly, the pain was fading, and another sensation was taking its place, warm and sweet, flooding his entire body. He found himself letting out a deep moan.

“Keep going,” Hikaru wispered. “Pe . e . . . it’s so good . . .”

A deep sense of relief flooded Akira. He was sure he’d done something wrong, that the whole attempt was ruined. He began to thrust his finger in and out, gently and slowly. He couldn’t help boticotice it felt nice in there, soft and hot and tight.

And Akira couldn’t wait to find out how that would feel around him.

He slid the finger out and reached for the towel he’d remembered to put in with his bedding, wiping it off and relubing it, along with a second. Gently, he began to push them inside Hikaru again.

Hikaru winced -- the pain from before was back, stronger than before. He was being filled to the point where he thought something in there was going to split open. But he gritted his teeth again and held on, telling himself it had to get better.

And then, the pleasure was washing over him, more intense than earlier, pouring through him like heated maple syrup. When Akira started to thrust the fingers, Hikaru pumped his hips, wanting more, wanting this sensation to go on and on . . .

The fingers pulled away, and Hikaru knew what was coming. He swallowed hard as he heard the tube squish again.

*This is it*, he thought. *It’s going to happen, I’m going to lose my virginity . . . if I didn’t lose it before. I don’t know what counts as losing your virginity for guys who do it with guys.*

Meanwhile, Akira was looking at the rolled up condom in his hand. *This is it?* he thought. *I just roll it on like a sock? Why did I think one of these would be bigger? I hope it’s not *too* tight, to the point where it hurts.*

He tentatively put it over the head of his manhood and started to unroll it downward. So far, so good. *What’s going to keep it from slipping off?* he thought. *How do I get it off afterward? No, I’ll have shrunk by that point . . . then how do I keep it from getting left in there? Maybe I should hold onto the bottom of it.*

He lubed the condom, lubed it some more, then lubed it again, before putting a generous amount on Hikaru’s opening. He lay atop his lover, who wrapped arms and legs around him, then raised his head for a kiss. Akira obliged, their lips caressing each other tenderly, tongues barely flicking at each other.

Then, Akira pulled his head back. “Ready?”

Hikaru gave him a sweet smile -- Akira could see a bit of fear in those eyes, and a lot of eagerness. “Ready.”

Akira pushed forward, remembering to take it slowly, as slowly as he possibly could. There was resistance at first, and he wondered if he was going to be able to do it, if maybe Hikaru wasn’t built to take a full erection.

And then, it opened a bit, and he started to ease in. As the tight heat started to envelop him, he let out a gasp. It was delicious, even more than he imagined.

A sharp cry from Hikaru made him stop. His eyes flew open, and he saw a pained expression on the other boy’s face.

“Hikaru!” Akira cried.

Hikaru opened his own eyes, slowly. “I’m all right. Don’t stop.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes, but . . . “ He reached up and stroked Akira’s face. “Keep going anyway. It’s not that bad, not really.”

Akira was about to pull out, to tell Hikaru forget it, that it wasn’t worth him getting hurt. But then, he looked into his lover’s eyes.

Hikaru wanted it. He could see it. He really wanted to keep going.

Akira pushed forward again, carefully . . . and once more, the lovely sensation enveloped him as he was encased in tight heat, so tight that it was right at the border between pleasure and pain -- which made it all the more delicious.

Hikaru’s fingers dug into Akira’s back as he rode out the pain -- oh, it was intense, all right, but it had to go away, it just had to . . . and sure enough, it started to fade, and something hot and delicious began to bloom at the core of his being, making him give a small moan.

Akira paused, leaning over to kiss Hikaru’s lips again. “You okay?”

Hikaru reached up and brushed Akira’s hair out of his eyes. “Yes . . . don’t stop.”

Akira pulled his hips back, bit by bit, and then forward, by degrees. Oh, how he *really* wanted to pump his hips as fast as he could, to drive himself hard into this boy again and again -- but he had to be careful, had to think of his lover . . .

Another moan of pleasure from Hikaru told him he was doing something right. He decided that maybe now he could get a little bolder. He started to move his hips faster, each thrust bringing another wave of exquisite sensation washing over his entire body.

Somewhere in the corner of his pleasure-fogged mind, he remembered that Hikaru was probably going to need help reaching climax, and he reached between their bodies, grasping the other boy’s erection and starting to stroke it.

The feel of Akira’s fingers sliding over his most sensitive skin made Hikaru give a small cry . . . oh, gods, this was too much, added to the delicious sensations coming from his bottom, oh, he was being so *filled*, filled to the bursting point, but it was so good, and it was sending unbelievable tingles rushing up and down his spine and through his entire body, making him feel enveloped in a thick, warm sweetness.

More, he had to have more . . . he gasped and panted, his head writhing on the pillow, blond bangs falling into his eyes, unnoticed. His fingers gripped Akira’s back as he moaned, his hips moving back onto his lover’s erection, forward into his hand.

“So good,” Akira groaned as he thrust faster still, half-crazed with erotic pleasure, wanting to bury himself in the boy, to lose himself in that heat forever, and yet to drive himself over the edge. It was beautiful madness, exquisite torture. “Oh, Hikaru, you feel so good . . . I can’t believe it . . .”

“Don’t stop!” Hikaru cried before he buried his face in the juncture of his lover’s head and shouler, nibbling at the skin, his own hips matching Akira’s rhythms . . . . the heat within him was building and building, untill he thought he was going to explode, and he gladly would, just to feel this ecstasy.

It would not be long now .. . not long . . . not long . . .

And then, Hikaru felt the entire world freeze in place, a split second of nothingness . . . right before there was an enormous burst of electricity at the core of his soul, sending shockwaves over his entire body, making him nearly scream Akira’s name as he was wracked with one luscious spasm after another.

Akira felt the throbbing inside Hikaru . . . the tugging of his sheath. . . and it touched off his own explosion, rolling over him in waves of lava, making his entire body tremble as he was flooded with heat.

He collapsed atop the other boy, both of them gasping, their hearts pounding. Then, finally, Akira raised his head, and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment before sharing a last, sweet kiss.

“How are you doing?” Akira whispered.

“I’ll tell you when the room stops spinning,” Hikaru replied, kissing Akira’s chin. “Which means you did good.”

They shifted so they were lying side-by-side. Akira tangled his fingers in his lover’s hair, pulling his head to his chest. “Did I hurt you at all?”

“Some, but . . . it was just at first.” Hikaru started to snuggle against Akira . . . and then realized something was wrong. There was a *strange* feeling in his bottom. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Akira said, sitting up partway.

Hikaru twisted his head some more. “Did you . . . leave something in there?”

“Leave something?” Akira frowned, trying to figure out what Hikaru was talking about . . . and then it hit him. “Oh, GODS! The condom!” He reached for his box of tissues, pulled one out and brought it to Hikaru’s entrance. Sure enough, the rubber was hanging partly out of him, the tip still inside, like a sock stuck in the dryer door.

He pulled it out gently, wrapping it in the tissues. “I forgot to hold on to it,” he said a bit sheepishly, a slight blush staining his cheeks.

Hikaru saw what he was doing, and found himself starting to laugh -- a slight chuckle which rapidly grew louder and harder. “You *did* leave a piece inside!”

“It could happen to anyone,” Akira said, primly, heading for the bathroom. He was blushing harder, and feeling a bit annoyed -- after all, he’d tried to make this as problem-free as possible.

Well, it *had* been . . . until then.

He returned to the bedroom with wet washcloths and towels. Hikaru’s laughter had died down to mild giggles by now.

“Stay like that,” Akira said. “I’m going to clean you off.”

As he worked at wiping off both of them, he began wondering if he should purchase a package of baby wipes. That would certainly do the trick, and they’d be able to keep them by the bedside whenever they needed them.

*Gods, I’m thinking in terms of sex, all-the-way sex, being a regular part of my life from now on,* he thought as he picked up the towel and began to dry Hikaru. *And with Shindou Hikaru, of all people! Back when I was 12, 13, 14, if someone had told me I was going to lose my virginity to him, I’d have told them they were crazy.*

He finished the job, put the rags aside and pulled Hikaru into his arms, kissing him tenderly. *But I can’t imagine it having been with anyone else,* he thought.

Hikaru wrapped his arms around Akira’s neck, looked up at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes, and said, “I wanna play a game.”

Akira blinked twice. That was’t exactly what he was expecting to hear in the way of pillow talk! “Now?”

“Why not?” Hikaru ran a finger along Akira’s chest. “Unless you’re too tired . . .”

Akira had almost hoped they’d cuddle and whisper and fall asleep in each other’s arms. But somehow, this seemed to be a fitting conclusion to the evening’s events.

*We’ve always communicated with each other as much with our stones as with our words,* Akira thought. *Now that we’re more inimate with each other than ever before, how will it affect that communication? What will our game be like?*

“All right,” he said. “And winner gets to pick who’ll be on top next time.”

Hikaru smiled slyly as he got out of bed, reaching for his clothes. Akira shook his head -- that wouldn’t be necessary -- and reached into his closet, pulling out two yukatas, one of which he handed to Hikaru. “You’d better get used to being under me, then,” Hikaru said as he started to put on the robe.

Akira smiled to himself as well as he slipped on his own. Actually, he had every intention of being on the bottom next time. He wanted to know what Hikaru had just felt and experienced.

But he wasn’t going to let his rival know that.

“We’ll see about that,” he said as they moved toward the goban on the other side of the room.

* * *

Ashiwara was looking over the results of the previous week’s games as he sat in the break room, waiting for his own game to begin.

*Touya has now won six straight,* he thought. *So has Shindou.* He’d seen a kifu of Akira’s last win online, and knew it had been no squeaked-out victory -- he had devastated his oponent, a 7-dan.

“I see you are interested in Touya’s games,” said a voice above him. Ashiwara looked up to see a perpetually cool blond, dressed as always in a white suit. He sat opposite Ashiwara and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“Ogata-san!” He finished folding up the paper and pushed it awa#147#147;I was just reading the results -- it seems he’s doing quite well.”

The older player took a deep drag on his cigarette, fixing Ashiwara with his usual intense, penetrating stare -- something the younger pro found far more unnerving that the icy glares some players liked to give their oppoents when they neared the end of the game.

“Akira-kun’s full talents will always come out when the circumstances are right.”

Ashiwara tried to discreetly wave the smoke away. “If this is his full talent, I’m glad I’m not playing him today.”

“You were worried about him a few weeks ago, weren’t you?” Ogata said, reaching for an ashtray.

“Yes,” Ashiwara admitted. “He seemed so . . . not him. Like something was bothering him.”

Ogata took a long drag on his cigarette and blew it out slowly. “Akira-kun has had enough on his plate to deal with. Remember, people have expected big things from him from the moment he was born. He has always handled it very well.”

“Maybe it just got to him,” Ashiwara said. “You know, hit him all at once.”

Ogata tapped his cigarette on the side of the ashtray. “I have known Akira-kun all his life. He usually does not let problems just sit there. He works on solving them. Except for one thing.”

Ashiwara frowned. The only thing that had ever thrown Akira off-balance at all had been --

“Shindou Hkaru? You think it had something to do with him?”

Ogata watched the smoke streams rising up from his cigarette, as if contemplating them. “He nearly lost a game two days after dou dou made the Honinbou League, didn’t he?”

“You’re saying he was jealous?”

“No.” Ogata took another drag. “He heard the footsteps of his rival at his heels, finally -- and he stumbled.”

Ashiwara picked up the paper and looked at the results again. “So what he’s trying to do now is make sure he stays ahead of Shindou?”

“And Shindou is making sure he catches up,” Ogata said, tapping the paper. “It’s the dynamic that keeps both of them going. Akira has to lead, and Shindou has to chase. If Shindou catches up, it throws both of them off.”

Ashiwara thought about this for a moment. Oh, it was definitely Akira’s relationship with Shindou Hikaru that had driven him for the past four years. He remembered some of Akira’s more extreme reactions to things Shindou had done and to the victories in his career.

Ashiwara knew he had never had anybody like that, no true rival -- just another bunch of players, day in and day out. There was nobody he was . . . *bound* to. It seemed an odd choice of words, but there was a definite *bond* between Shindou and Touya.

He noticed it when the boys ate lunch together, and seemed utterly absorbed in each other’s conversation. He noticed it when they were in the break room, discussing their previous games, Shindou’s enthusiasm contrasting with Touya’s coolness.

*It’s unlike any relationship I’ve ever seen between two Go players before,* he thought. *Maybe, that means that they . . .*

“Ogata-san,” he said aloud, “do you think Shindou and Touya are destined to reach the Hand of God?”

There was a long moment as the other pro thought this over, crushing out his cigarette.

“Destined, I don’t know. They have the potential. But we *all* have the potential, don’t you think?” He got up and started to head into the game room.

Ashiwara watched him go, thinking over what he had said . . . and then saw two other figures outside the break room. Shindou was leaning against the wall, and Touya was standing in front of him, arms folded. Shindou was talking very quickly about something, occasionally punctuating what he was saying with gestures. Touya was listening quietly, interjecting a comment here and there.

He looked at their body language. They were standing a mere few feet from each other, each seeming to know the rules very well about violating each other’s personal space. Clearly, they were comfortable with one another.

He then looked around at the players around them, how they were interacting with each other. Further down the table, two young men were sipping coffee and having a lazy conversation, leaning back from each other. Just inside the door, a woman and a man were smoking and talking, both of them at a respectable distance, the arms not holding the cigarettes folded over their bodies.

*There is definitely something different about Shindou and Touya,* he thought. *There’s never been two players who look so . . . *together* before.*

He wondered if he would ever find out what the secret behind them was.

* * *

Akira knelt on the cushion across from the goban, focusing his thoughts as he always did before a game.

Or at least he was trying to. Today, his thoughts were just a wee bit out of focus -- and he didn’t mind it one bit.

He felt a strange serenity, different than his usual pre-game meditative state -- it was as if his whole world had shifted into perfect balance, as if his planets were in perfect alignment and nothing could go wrong with the rest of the day.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Shindou, two rows across from him, kneeling at his own goban for the day, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Akira had to smile a bit. His lover just looked so beautiful right now, so calm and composed.

Of course, he knew from firsthand experience that when thoyes yes snapped open, they’d have a look of fierce competitiveness, and the boy would go from angel to tiger.

Akira’s own eyes closed, and he recalled the warmth of Hikaru’s skin against his, the boy’s scent, the sound of his moans -- and, oh gods, the delicious feel of his sheath tightening all around him . . .

Up until this point, all the emotional highs of Touya Akira’s life had been Go-related. Hearing words of praise from his father, defeating opponents much older and higher-ranked than himself, scoring against the Koreans and Chinese during the Hokuto Cup . . .

He never thought that anything else would ever make him feel so good. Especially something involving Shindou, the source of so many of the emotional *lows* of his life.

Akira took the lid off the go ke in front of him and dipped his hand in, picking up some of the cold, smooth stones, letting them slip through. *How totally opposite,* he thought, *to his hot skin last night.*

At the thought of Shindou -- not just their lovemaking, but every moment they spent together, yes, even their fights -- the strange serenity came upon him again, accompanied by a warmth that seemed to seep from his heart over his entire body.

As he put the lid back on the go ke, he wondered, *Is this love? Is that what I’m feeling? I’ve never loved anyone before -- never even thought I would -- so I have no idea.*

He saw his opponent approaching the goban, a 6-dan named Kawasaki, a reedy twentysomething man in oversized professorial glasses and a grey suit. *They say he can be tricky in the endgame,* Akira thought. *I have to be on my guard.*

Thoughts of love had to be pushed aside for the time being. Touya Akira was going into warrior mode. He closed his eyes again, breathing deeply.

When those eyes snapped open, Kawasaki would be looking at the glare of a dragon.

* * *

“Man, that was no easy win!” Hikaru said, stretching his arms above his head as he and Akira headed down the steps of the Go Institute. “I thought he had me at a couple of points.”

“I’ve played him before,” Akira said, calmly. “He’s strong in the middle game, but he tends to fall apart at the end.”

“You were done way before me,” Hikaru said, rubbing the back of his head as they turned the corner, headed for the subway.

“I knew what I was dealing with,” Akira said as he fumbled in his pocket for the tickets he’d bought earlier that day. “He’s an endgame specialist. So my strategy was to make him resign before he could *get* to the endgame.”

They headed down the steps. “I’ll show you which train we’re taking,” Hikaru said. “The party’s at Morishita’s house -- you’ve never been there, have you?”’

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Hikaru knew he’d asked a dumb question. Morishita’s group had always considered themselves bitter rivals to Touya Koyou’s study group. Hikaru wondered if Ochi had done the right thing by inviting Akira to this party -- after all, there were a lot of people there who felt outright hostile to him.

Akira just shook his head. Hikaru decided to just leave it at that.

When the train arrived, the car was rather crowded. Hikaru was able to find a seat at the very end of a bench, but Akira remained standing, holding onto a strap, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Looking at him, Hikaru couldn’t help but remember *another* subway ride, a seeming eternity ago, when Akira had all but ambushed him after the children’s Go tournament, examined his hands for signs he was a regular player, and then literally dragged him to the subway to go to his father’s salon for a rematch against Sai.

*Gods,* Hikaru thought, *if I knew then that I’d end up sleeping with him . . .*

He wondered what Sai would have thought of the night before. He couldn’t imagine what his first time would have been like with Sai there. A picture began filling his mind of Sai standing on the sidelines of their lovemaking, shouting out comments and advice -- “HIKARUUUUU! That’s a mistake! You’re supposed to be sucking on his *neck,* and have your fingers on his nipples!”

Hikaru shook his head vigorously, as if to rid himself of the ridiculous image. Sai wouldn’t have known about sex. He knew nothing but his game.

*So how did it happen to me?* Hikaru thought, gazing at Akira again. He knew that all of a sudden, he wanted Akira more than almost anything. His life had shifted from “wanting to do nothing but play Go” to “wanting to do nothing but play Go and make love to Akira.”

*But other than the sex, our relationship hasn’t changed much, has it? * he thought. *He still gets me so mad sometimes . . . well, in a funny way, I don’t think I’d want it any other way. If we didn’t fight like that, we wouldn’t be *us*.

It was all far more confusing than he thought a relationship would be.

He suddenly found himself wishing very deeply that Sai was back with him, that he could ask him about his feelings, about what was happening to him. True, Sai probably hadn’t experienced this firsthand, but . . .

*He’d be able to say *something* to help me,* Hikaru thought. *He always did.*

The train came to a stop. Hikaru knew this was their station. He gathered up his backpack and motioned to Akira to follow him.

*I have to stop wishing Sai were here,* he thought. Except for the appearances he’d made in Akira’s dreams, Sai was gone for good. Hikaru had to face his emotions, his problems, on his own.

* * *

Waya brought a tray of sushi appetizers out of the kitchen and placed it on the dining room table. Most of the guests were already there. Isumi was playing a game with Honda on a portable goban set up on the living room table. Nase and Fuku were sitting in a circle with some of the guys from the study group, chatting about how things were going in the insei class.

And Ochi was walking into the kitchen, the usual scowl on his face. Sometimes, Waya wanted to make a gag T-shirt that said “The Many Moods of Ochi” that had the names of different emotions -- happy, sad, angry, thoughtful, sleepy, etc. -- all with the same scowling face above them.

“Shindou’s not here yet,” he said. “He’s late to his own party.”

“He had a game today,” Waya said, pulling the plastic cover off the platter. “It might have gone late.”

“He was playing Kubota today,” Ochi said, adjusting his glasses. “He’s even more of a speed Go specialist than Shindou. I don’t think that game would take *this* long.”

If it had been anyone else, Waya would have just shrugged. But this was Shindou . . . who always seemed to do the unexpected. Who the hell knew why he was late?

*He won’t give us a reason,* Waya thought, laying out the plastic containers of pickled ginger, soy sauce and wasabi that had come with the platter. *He never does.*

Pushing his glasses up again, Ochi said, casually, “Touya isn’t here yet either.”

“Feh,” Waya said, carefully pulling the lid off the sauce. “I don’t care if he comes or not.”

“You know . . . he *has* been spending a lot of time with Shindou lately.”

Waya frowned. That he most definitely could not deny. It used to be that he and Isumi would always go out with Hikaru after games -- to grab something to drink at the coffeehouse, or to McDonald’s, or even to play a game or two in one of the old Go parlors they used to go to.

Now, Hikaru was always going to the Touya Go salon. Oh, he didn’t advertise it . . . he didn’t want Morishita to find out. He’d say he was meeting with a student, or with his old Go Club friends.

But Waya and Isumi knew where he was going. They’d heard the scuttlebutt from pros who dropped in at the Touya salon from time to time. Morishita had, too, and he wasn’t happy about it -- but he didn’t say anything. Having the young genius who’d rocketed from 1-dan with a string of forfeits to the Honinbou League in less than two years in his study group was very prestigious, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that.

*They eat lunch together a lot, too,* Waya thought. *Especially on days when they have games, and Isumi and I don’t.* He’d heard scuttlebutt about that, too.

“That’s up to him,” Waya said, pulling off the other two lids and setting them off to the side. “Personally, *I* don’t know why he’d want to hang around with a guy like that, unless it’s to try to figure out his playing strategy.”

“Touya was always trying to figure Shindou out, too,” Ochi said, scowling more than ever as he and Waya headed out toward the living room. “When I had my lessons with him, Shindou was all he ever talked about.”

As they entered the room, Fuku ran up to them. “Shindou’s coming up the walk,” he said. “And he has Touya with him.”

Waya found himself blinking at that. They were arriving together? That clinched it -- the two arch-rivals who had spent so much time obsessing over beating each other were now buddy-buddy.

*I never thought anything could be more baffling than Shindou*, Waya thought as the knock came on the door. *Now I know it’s Shindou and Touya *together*.
* * * * *

“You’ve come a long way, Shindou, haven’t you?”

Hikaru leaned back on the couch, taking a drink from his soda, feeling full and content. After all, they’d been fed very well -- the sushi appetizer had been followed by a huge kettle of ramen, then green tea ice cream with red bean paste for all. Now he was sitting on the couch, talking to Shirakawa.

“I think so,” Hikaru said. “I worked hard at it.”

“I remember when you first came to my class,” the older man said, sitting back and taking a sip from his teacup. “You knew nothing about Go at all. And I had to throw you out one day for acting up.”

“You mean that guy whose wig I pulled off?” Hikaru rolled the bottle of Code Red between his hands a bit. “Well . . . you have to admit, he *did* deserve it.”

Hikaru remembered the incident very clearly. It was within a week of Sai’s arrival, a day or so after the first game with Akira -- the first time his mentor had gotten angry at a Go player who was cheating players weaker than him. But Hikaru had decided to handle the problem his own way.

Shirakawa chuckled. “Well, he did need to be disciplined, the way he was acting. Although I’m not sure if that was the way I would have chosen.”

Hikaru leaned forward. “Hey, he never did it again, did he?”

“You’re right, he didn’t.” The former teacher put his cup and saucer down and leanded back, hands folded on his lap. “I have to admit, Hikaru, back then I would have never dreamed you’d even think of becoming an insei, much less make the Honinbou League.”

“Neither would I,” Hikaru said, draining the last of his soda. He instantly knew he was going to want more. The meal had left him thirsty -- maybe it was all the soy on the sushi he’d eaten.

“Hikaru . . . what *was* it that made you *serious* about Go?”

What, indeed. Hikaru couldn’t quite pinpoint the single moment when he knew that Go had become the center of his life. Maybe it was when he had played his first solo hand, without Sai’s guidance, against Touya Koyou . . . or when he participated in that first junior high Go tournament, before he officially entered Haze . . .

But he knew why he had becme a pro. *That* was all about Akira -- the *other* center of his life.

He just shrugged and said, “I’m really not sure.”

Across the room, Akira was sitting in the midst of a group consisting of Isumi, Honda, Ochi, Nase and Fuku. Conversation, of course, was about the game.

“I’ve played Murasaki twice,” Honda said, cracking open a can of Pepsi. “I haven’t beaten him yet.”

“My sensei used to be in a study group with him,” said Nase, one hand pushing a piece of her shoulder-length brown hair out of her eyes. “He said that when Murasaki first came to the group, he was such a bad player, nobody knew how he’d managed to pass the insei exam. And then, he started hanging out at this one Go salon, and poof -- he got better, just like that.”

“You have to watch him,” Isumi said, leaning forward in his chair. “He’s a slow starter. Kind of weak in joseki, but once he gets to mid-game . . .”

“He’s the kind of player who substitutes tricks for real skill,” Ochi said in a cool tone, pushing his glasses back up on his face. “I didn’t fall for anything he tried to pull on me.”

“What did he do?” Nase said.

“He tried to lure me to the middle of the board to distract me from a mistake he’d made in the corner. A very sloppy one, too. But I just held my ground, and . . .”

Akira held on to his cup of tea, with it poised halfway between his saucer and his mouth. He’d played Murasaki once or twice, when he firscamecame a pro.

But Murasaki was a mere 3-dan, and he didn’t play people at that level anymore. He played higher dans, contenders for major titles.

Nobody seemed to be paying particular attention to him -- it was as if he wasn’t there. Of course, he often didn’t pay particular attention to them, either. He spoke when someone engaged him in coversation, but he didn’t particularly seek to start them.

It was a normal thing for Akira to not feel quite in touch with his Go-playing peers. He’d always been at a higher level than them. He’d always just quietly accepted this as a fact of life, although he *had* longed for a rival of his own age -- which is why the arrival of Shindou had suck an explosive effect on him.

But now, the fact that he was not *quite* part of Hikaru’s group of friends -- that they’d never *quite* accept him just because he was *Touya Akira* -- was starting to bother him a bit.

*Am I starting to think of Shindou Hikaru and I as one unit?* Akira thought. *As a *we* rather than as a *me*?*

The idea hit him like a ton of bricks, making his head spin. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time -- the idea of the two of them as one, almost like a married couple . . .

It was something he’d never dared dreamed of before, something he wouldn’t have even considered. But now, it seemed natural and inevitable -- which he found a bit startling.

A slight smile began to creep across his face, which he quickly raised his teacup to conceal.

Meanwhile, Hikaru was heading to the kitchen to get another soda. He glanced over and saw Akira sitting in the midst of his friends, just sipping his tea while they talked.

*I wonder why he was invited?* Hikaru thought. *I knew none of them would want to talk to him. Sometimes I think they consider Touya a thing from another world -- they’re fascinated by him and scared of him at the same time.*

He had to admit that this disturbed him. He wanted his friends to see Akira in the same light he did -- well, maybe not *exactly* the same light, but . . . to like him a little.

He passed through the dining room on the way to the kitchen. Morishita and his group were still sitting around the table, talking and laughing. Across from the teacher sat Waya with Morishita’s daughter, Shigeko.

Just about everyone in Hikaru’s group of friends knew they were dating, although they wasn’t sure for how long. Waya had never come out and officially announced it. It was just something that had gradually become common knowledge, seeping slowly through the Go player grapevine like sap making its way down the bark of a maple tree.

Waya was sitting with his hand on the girl’s shoulder -- just casually laid there. Both of them were looking relaxed and comfortable -- her father even seemed to be looking at them with pride.

Hikaru swallowed hard. He knew that if he went over to Akira and just laid his hand on his shoulder like that, the others would react with shock and bewilderment.

Oh, how he wanted to do that, to let his friends see that they were *together*, that Akira deserved better treatment than they’d given him in the past because he wasn’t some thing from another world, he was *Hikaru’s boyfriend*. But . . . he couldn’t.

There was no way that *their* relationship would be allowed to slowly make its way through the gossip mill. No, Hikaru and Akira were going to have to be on their guard to make sure that *no* scuttlebutt about them got out.

And here was Morishita, acting so proud of his daughter for being in a relationship. If Touya Koyou found out about Hikaru and Akira . . .

Suddenly, the unfairness of it all hit Hikaru like a cannonball to the stomach. He didn’t want the soda anymore. He just wanted to be alone for a few minutes.

He slipped into the kitchen and out the back door, onto the Morishita’s back porch, a long, wide platform of wood with a railing and a round table surrounded by chairs at one end.

The night was a bit on the cool side. Hikaru crossed his arms over his body as he leaned over the railing, looking at the rippling reflection of the moon in the familly’s above-ground swimming pool.

He heard the door squeak behind him. He whirled around, prepared to tell whoever it was that he just wanted to be alone for awhile.

It was Akira.

“I saw you heading for the kitchen in a hurry,” his lover said, walking overtoward him. “I thought you might be out here.”

“You didn’t have to come here,” Hikaru said, looking toward the pool again.

“I wanted to,” Akira said quietly, his fingers trailing over the railing. “You looked like something was bothering you.”

“Nothing, really,” Hikaru grumbled, turning around, resting his elbows on the railing and leaning back. “Just kinda wishing we didn’t have to hide.”

Akira looked over at the other boy. “That’s a necessary evil, unfortunately.”

“Well, it sucks. I look at you, and I want to tell all my friends how special you are to me, and I *can’t*, and yet Waya can be open with Shigeko all he wants, because they’re a guy and a girl . . . it just sucks, that’s all.”

Akira leaned over toward Hikaru. He wanted to take the boy’s hand in both of his, gaze into his eyes -- but their position was in clear sight of the dining room window.

He just said, quietly, “It’s not pleasant, but . . . we can’t jeopardize our careers, Shindou. Not when they’re going so well. Remember, we’re going to reach the Hand of God together someday.”

“I want to reach the Hand of God *and* be able to let people know how I feel about you!” Hikaru said -- and then stopped, suddenly. How *did* he feel about Akira? Was this love, the Real Deal? Was Akira the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with? His head was spinning, confused . . . he always thought love would make him stumble around feeling goofy and lighthheaded. This wasn’t anything like that. This was a constant *hunger*, and a strong feeling of affection, of attachment . . .

*Like we really are two halves of the same person,* he thought. He remembered the feeling he’d had all too often, of being *less than whole* when he and Akira couldn’t be together.

Akira turned and looked at the pool, leaning over so his crossed arms were on the railing. “Maybe someday,” he said. “Maybe someday, people will be a bit more open-minded about this kind of thing. But for now, we’ll just have to keep it secret like we’ve been doing.” He looked up at Hikaru. “At least we can get plenty of time to spend together.”

“I want more,” Hikaru said. “I want . . .”

The rest of the statement hung in the air. I want you with me all the time . . . I want us to live together . . . I want to never feel like less than a whole person because we’re apart again . . .

Akira reached over and let the tips of his fingertips lightly brush Hikaru’s . . . a feathery touch that wouldn’t be able to be seen by anyone looking out the window. The boys’ eyes caught and held.

“I know,” Akira said, quietly.

And in that split second, in that touch, that look, Hikaru realized that maybe Akira *did* know . . . maybe he was feeling the exact same things Hikaru was. And that caused a fluttery feeling of excitement in his stomach, like the moment before a rollercoaster drop.

Suddenly, Hikaru’s entire evening had been made.

Akira turned away and headed for the door. “Let’s go back . . . they’re going to be looking for you.”

Hikaru nodded and followed, thinking that maybe Akira was right -- maybe it was enough that they could at least spend some time together, even if they couldn’t be open about it.

It still wasn’t enough for him. But for now, it would do.

___________

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