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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.

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

<i>According to authorities around the world, there are five different kinds of health that human beings strive for: Physical, Mental, Emotional, Spiritual and Social. A healthy, happy life results from keeping all these elements in balance.</i>

BALANCE

A Hikaru no Go Sekkushiaru Roman Series

By Sailor Mac

PART THREE: SOCIAL (1/4)

Amano looked at the kifu spread out on the table in front of him. They were records of the recent games of some of the younger pros. Some were certainly impressive -- Ochi and Waya, especially, had been ing ing up a lot of wins. Others were mediocre, and there were a few that made him wonder how the players had gotten through even the earliest rounds of the pro exam.

And then, there were the game records over in the far left corner.

They were from two separate players, over a couple of weeks’ time within the last month. They showed flawless play, and two very distinct styles. One was an “attack”-type player, who went after his opponents ruthlessly. The other was more of a clever, sly strategist, whose stock in trade was to make the opponent think he had made a major mistake . . . before moving in for the kill.

These two had surpassed even his own expectations for them. He’d known for years that both of them were something special. But they had revealed themselves to be nothing less than extraordinary, true legends in the making.

“Shindou and Touya, right?” said a voice above his desk, making him look up. There was a tall, reedy man, around his own age, mid-40s or so, with a thick shock of carefully groomed salt-and-pepper hair and a perfectly tailored dark blue suit.

“Yes,” Amano said, reaching for his ever-present pack of cigarettes. He pushed his glasses back into place before drawing one out, offering the smokes to the newcomer, who waved them away.

“Just what I’ve heard they are,” the other man said, picking up one kifu and studying it. “All the older pros, they say they’re running scared of those two. Well, I guess that’s why I was called in by the top brass here. They know what they’ve got on their hands.”

Amano leaned across his desk, fumbling for an ashtray amongst the printouts. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Name’s Ishii Kazuya,” the man said. “I’m from Sato and Nishoka.”

“Isn’t that some kind of advertising agency?” Amano said, putting down his cigarette and starting to gather up some of the non-Shindou and Touya printouts. With all the people smoking in the Weekly Go office, the fewer pieces of paper left lying around for any length of time, the better -- they didn’t exactly want to risk burning down the entire Go Institute.

“Public relations and marketing,” Ishii said, beginning to help the mustachioed man pick up the papers. “We design campaigns to get people into the press -- politicians, musicians and the like.”

“So what brings you to us?” Amano said, taking a stack from the other man and adding it to his own. “The Go Institute has its own publication -- you’re in its office right now. And there’s always been Go writers at most of the major papers.”

“Yes, but that’s for the audience you have already.” Ishii ran his fingers over a dark, yellow-striped tie. “The brass here has decided to go after a new audience. They want to take Go to the kids. Show them it’s hip and cool.”

Amano leaned back, picking up the cigarette again and tapping off the ashes. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d heard of something like this. Every few years, the Go Institute would try to get some hot young actor or idol singer of the moment to endorse the game. The few who agreed to it always ended up being poor spokespeople, posing cutely with a goban and stones but unable to answer even the most basic questions about play.

“And who are they trying to get this time? Some ditzy dorama queen?”

“Ah, no, that’s the beauty of this campaign.” Ishii grabbed a nearby chair, pulled it up to Amano’s desk and sat down, leaning over with a twinkle in his eye reminiscent of a mad scientist building a giant robot. “Rather than use idol singers or actors . . . we’re going to promote your young players as Go Idols.”

Amano dropped his cigarette so fast that he scorched his shirt. He pulled back from his desk with a small yell, feeling around frantically until he recovered it.

“You okay?” Ishii said, calmly.

“Well, you surprised me just a *little*, Amano said, brushing at the ashes on his shirt. “Who came up with that idea?”

“I did,” Ishii replied. “You’ve got two stellar talents in Shindou and Touya. There hasn’t been anything like them in years. And not only do they play good, they look good! I got a load of both of them when they were playing, and they’re the kind of guys young girls flip for! And you’ve got other up-and-comers who are lookers, too! Waya, Isumi . . .”

“They’re *Go players!*” Amano said. “Not SMAP!”

“Who says you can’t use a SMAP-type image campaign to market Go?” Ishii said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Girls see guys who look like that, playing their hearts out, it’s gonna make them want to hit the Go salons. Boys see girls going to Go salons, then *they’ll* go there too -- because it’s where the girls are. In a couple of years, you’re gonna have so many kids clamoring to be insei, they’re gonna have to put an annex on this place to hold them all.”

Amano wanted to protest . . . but one certainly couldn’t deny that the Japanese insei program had been rather anemic in numbers in recent years, especially compared to the massive programs in China and Korea. It certainly would be nice to have Japan become competitive on the world stage again, but . . .

“Is it really worth selling the soul of the game?” he mused aloud.

“Who said anything about selling its soul?” Ishii replied, one hand running along his tie again. “It’s not like we’re gonna be holding tournaments in the middle of J-rock festivals or decking the players out in crazy clothes. We respect the dignity and tradition of the game. We’re just . . . putting a prettier face on it, as it were.”

Amano took a long drag on his cigarette, thinking this over. “Have you spoken with Shindou and Touya about this yet?”

“Nope. There’s suppose be be a meeting about this next week, right after some tournament they’re both playing in.”

Amano nodded. “The Young Stars Tournament.”

“Meantime, I’ve already started beating the drums a little,” Ishii said, standing up and pushing his chair away. “Got some newspapers who ordinarily wouldn’t cover Go sending people to the tournament. And now I’ve gotta run -- more newspaper people to meet with. Great meeting you!” He gave a small wave and rushed out of the room.

Amano sat back in his chair, crushing out his cigarette and reaching for another. Go Idols -- he never thought he’d see the day. He imagined Shuusaku would turn over in his grave at the very *idea* of Go players being sold like human UFO catchers.

But what if Ishii was right about the appeal to young people? What if it *did* bring them flocking into the Go salons, into school Go clubs, and, ultimately, into the insei program? What if Japan was finally able to fully reclaim its dominance of its own national game?

*Well, then,* he thought, *it would be worth it. But . . . I just wish they’d chosen someone other than Shindou and Touya. That’s like getting a star opera diva to sing Para Para songs.*

He sighed, getting out another cigarette. He’d known for a long time that Shindou and Touya were going to be the saviors of Japanese Go. He just didn’t know they’d go about it quite like *this*.

* * *

Hikaru rushed out of the door of the Go Institute, heading off in a different direction than he usually did. He wasn’t going to take the subway home today. Oh, no . . . he had quite another purpose in mind.

He knew he had to study and mentally prepare himself for the Young Stars Tournament. But there was something else he wanted to study first.

After all, he wasn’t about to let Akira get ahead of him in *anything*.

He turned the corner and headed toward a large building with a design reminiscent of a Greek temple . . . some architect’s concept of what libraries looked like in the West. It was the biggest library Hikaru knew of.

*They’ve got to have what I’m looking for,* he thought, pushing the door and entering a cavernous space filled with row upon row of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The air smelled faintly of dust and ink. People glided between the shelves like ghosts, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Usually, Hikaru spent as little time in these places as possible. They reminded him of the school papers he always tried to avoid writing. He doubted anyone was going to assign a school paper on what he wanted to look up.

Toward the front of the room was a long desk of a light-colored wood, behind which a bored-looking woman with dyed maroon hair and a bright purple sweater sat looking through a magazine. Hikaru approached her, gingerly.

“Um, how would I go about finding information on . . . something?”

Without even looking up from her magazine, she pointed across the room. “Online catalogue, over there.”

Hikaru looked in the direction she was pointing, and his heart sank. He thought he wouldn’t have to use a computer for this. The row of PCs seemingly staring him in the face told hi was was going to have no luck in *that* department.

He walked toward it slowly, like a hunter approaching a wild animal that could pounce any moment. He looked to the left, then the right, then quickly typed in the words he wanted to research.

“Holy *crap*!” he nearly shouted as an enormous list of books appeared on the screen in front of him. Every head in the library, it seemed, swiveled to look at him He pasted on his more innocent-looking smile as he frantically fumbled in his backpack for a pen and paper. Of course, the one time he needed something like that, there was none to be found.

Five minutes later, he was in what he hoped was the most remote part of the lobby, books stacked in front of him like cordwood. It wasn’t that he wanted peace and quiet so much as he didn’t want to be seen. Just his luck, a bunch of other Go pros would come in as he was looking at pictures like . . .

He turned the page of the big coffee-table book in front of him and came upon an illustration that made him blink. Or rather, illustrations. After all, there was a full page of them. At the top right, a naked woman on all fours, an equally naked man kneeling behind her, grasping her flanks, a look on his face that could have been either ecstasy or constipation (Hikaru wasn’t quite sure). Below that, the man was reclining on his back as the woman sat atop him. And next to that, the woman was sitting in the man’s lap, facing away.

It was a carnival of sex, a cavalcade of the kind of heated images Hikaru never thought he’d ever be actively seeking out. It was also all male-female -- but nothing that couldn’t be adapted for male-male use.

He smiled a bit to himself. Oh, yes, this book would do very nicely.

“You’re not the only one who can research sex, Touya Akira,” he whispered out loud.

* * *

Akira sat in the living room, a stack of kifu in front of him. He was trying to familiarize himself with the record of his opponent in the first round of the Young Stars Tournament.

This wasn’t his first appearance in the tournament, which was open to all top prize-winners 7-dan and under, but it was the first time he was going in as the favorite. There had been buzz all through the Go world for weeks that Touya Akira’s victory was assured, that this would be his first step on the road to the *really* big titles.

Akira made it a point not to pay too much attention to buzz. He knew he was just as vulnerable as any other player in the tournament. One slip, one wrong move, and it would all be over.

This made him all the more determined to win. Nobody was going to get by him. Not even Shindou Hikaru. *Especially* not him.

A glance up at the clock revealed that his rival-turned-lover was late. This was nothing unusual for him, of course, but Akira still found it a bit annoying.

He took a sip from the glass of water at his elbow and picked up the kifu again. He knew Shindou had been preparing for this tournament just as intensely as he was -- the last time they’d spent the night together, he’d been awakened by the sound of Go stones hitting the board. He’d gone downstairs to find Hikaru at the main family goban, the one where he played with his father, recreating a game.

*If we were living together,* he thought, *we’d probably be limiting our romantic activity, so to speak, until after the tournament. But as it is . . . we have to take whatever time together we can get.*

His parents were in China yet again. Akira often found himself wondering if he and Hikaru would have started sleeping together if his father had remained with the Japan Go Institute.

*We definitely wouldn’t have been doing it right under my parents’ nose,* he thought. *Absolute privacy is a must. Especially for a relationship like ours.*

He sometimes wondered if the other players noticed anything unusual about his interactions with Hikaru. He certainly treated him no differently in public. They still had their regular, loud fights, either at the Go Institute or his father’s salon.

*We wouldn’t be us if we didn’t ,* he thought, one hand coming up to absently toy with his collar as the other still held the kifu.

He looked at the clock again. A full *half-hour* late! What in the world was keeping him?

There was a knock, and Akira put the kifu down, striding quickly to the door. Sure enough, there was Hikaru, looking breathless and holding a large plastic bag in one hand.

“Hi!” he said. “Sorry I’m late.”

Akira eyed the bag. “Shopping?”
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“Something like that.” Hikaru made sure the door was closed behind them, hiding them from public view, then leaned over and gave Akira a quick kiss on the lips. “Okay, I want you to do something for me.”

Akira frowned a little. “What is it?”

“I want you to go into the bathroom and get ready to take a bath.”

Akira blinked rapidly a couple of times. “*What*?”

Hikaru frowned. “Geez, are you deaf? I said, take a bath. Get undressed and on the washing stool.”

“Shindou, what the hell are you . . .” Akira pulled back a bit, his eyes reflecting confusion.

“Just do it, okay?” Hikaru said.

Akira gave a small sigh. Whar itr it was, Hikaru was being persistent. So, he’d go along with it.

“But it had better be worth it,” he murmured to himself, walking into the bathroom and starting to unbutton his shirt.

In the back of his mind, though, there was a mounting excitement. Their previous encounters had excited him like nothing before -- well, Go was equally exciting, but in a different way. Nowadays, when he went to sleep, he ran over their evenings of lovemaking in his head almost as often as he ran over games.

He was just glad he had the extraordinary mental disciple honed over years of playing and studying his game. If he didn’t, he would have been overwhelmed by his sexual feelings, thought about sex all the time.

He couldn’t afford to do that. Especially when his lover was also his rival. So he had to separate his feelings into boxes, like stones going back in their go kes. Black to the left, white to the right. Go over here, lust over there.

The shirt ended up on the counter, followed by pants, socks and underwear. Akira folded each garment neatly and put them on the sink.

Once Akira was finished undressing, he sat on the plastic stool for washing, picking up the spray nozzle. What on earth was Shindou up to? Telling him to come in and take a bath . . . it was one of the *oddest* requests that he’d ever . . .

“Hey! Don’t do that. That’s my job.”

Akira looked up. There in the doorway was Shindou Hikaru, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist . . . slung low enough to be barely covering his vital areas, knotted loosely enough to look as if it were going to slip off any second.

It was the hottest thing Akira had seen in his life.

“Why are you . . .” he said, barely able to get the words out.

Hikaru walked over, slowly, and the knot at his waist seemed to slip a little more. Akira swallowed hard.

“I’m gonna give you a bath. What do you think I’m gonna do?”

Akira nearly fell off the stool. “Give me a . . .” But he had to admit that the concept was intriguing him in a big way -- and his body was starting to respond to it.

“Just give me the hose,” Hikaru said.

Akira handed it over, swallowing hard, wondering if his “interest” in the situation was visible to the other boy.

Hikaru began to spray Akira all over, making sure his body was thoroughly wet. Reaching for the tube of shower soap, he squeezed some into his hand and worked it up into a lather.

*Okay,* he thought, *now I just have to remember everything I read. First, the book on massage . . .*

He began to gently, firmly knead Akira’s shoulders, his fingers feeling for any tense muscles (because any Go player, no matter how good he was, was going to have them). Oh, yes, here was a knot that he had to smooth out . . . he concentrated on it, rubbing his fingers in tight little circles, feeling Akira relax beneath him.

Akira closed his eyes and felt himself leaning back, giving in to his lover’s ministrations. Hikaru wasn’t exactly a skilled masseur -- he was a bit too rough in some places, not firm enough in others -- but his enthusiasm was more than making up for it.

Not to mention the fact that he kept rubbing his chest up against Akira’s back, just quick, feathery touches, enough to make his lover gasp a bit and want more.

“How’s this?” Hikaru said, his sudsy hands working their way further down Akira’s back, kneading in wide circles.

“Ohh, yes,” Akira replied, leaning back more, suddenly wanting more than Hikaru’s hands on hBR>
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“Good,” Hikaru said, his hands sliding around Akira’s body, caressing his stomach, making the other boy arch upward, as if to mutely beg Hikaru to move his hands lower. “Because I’m going to do your front now.”

Hikaru shifted positions, so he was kneeling in front of Akira, and his splayed hands moved up toward his chest, gliding over the flesh with exquisite slowness. Akira sucked in a breath, expecting him to pause at his nipples, caress and rub . . .

But instead, he continued steadily upward, brushing over the hardening buds for just a second. Akira let out a small groan of frustration.

Hikaru’s fingers slid down his arms, rubbing the lather in as he went, looking up at Akira with a sly little smile that said, “I know you want it, and you’re not going to get it. Not right away, that is.” This just made Akira shudder with a delicious, pent-up heat, one that would threaten to scorch him from the inside very quickly.

The blond moved downward, lathering his hands again, kneeling on the floor so he could begin to soap Akira’s legs. He had to tell himself to move slowly, to rub in small circles, moving upward by degrees.

*But this sucks,* he thought. *I want to put my hands all over him!* He knew that it would defeat the purpose, though. After all, the author of “The Cookbook of Sex,” which was the fifth book he’d read -- or was it the sixth? -- said thlow low and easy was the way to go.

Right now, he wanted to deck the author of “The Cookbook of Sex.”

He caressed upward from his knees, reaching his thighs, which he massaged in long strokes, bracing his thumbs on the inner part and fingers on the outer. As he slid up, he felt Akira’s thighs push apart, presenting something else to his view, something erect and waiting for his touch.

Hikaru licked his lips, because he wanted to stroke his tongue over what he was looking at. But he restrained himself, and rubbed downward over the thighs, then up, then down again.

Akira had the knuckles of his right hand pressed against his mouth, struggling not to bite them as Hikaru’s fingers began a circular motion. He didn’t know how much more of this almost-but-not-quite he could take. He felt like he was going to burst. He was tempted to just leap off this stool, tumble Hikaru on the floor and have his way with him.

And then, finally, Hikaru’s soapy fingers were fluttering lightly up and down his shaft, and he jerked his hips, crying out, biting at his fingers to keep from coming. Hikaru caressed the head, just a bit, then slipped below, moving to the base, rubbing a little up and down, then working their way back up.

Down the fingers moved again, to the base, and lower, flickering against the sac beneath as Akira let out a deep, throaty sound. Up the shaft again, rubbing back and forth, then in little circles. . .

Then, the fingers stopped, and Akira felt the water spray hitting him again. He jumped. “Why did you stop?”

“Because it’s time to get in the tub.”

“But wha I . I . . .” Hikaru was grabbing his arm, pulling upward, and Akira had no choice but to get up and let himself be led to the steaming water. He eased in, submerging himself to his neck, his eyes following his lover as he slid in after him . . . turning around as he entered the water to give Akira the best view possible of his bottom. The tantalizing rump soon disappeared into the water, along with the rest of him.

Hikaru leaned over, caressing Akira’s chest. “You look *hot*.”

*I *feel* hot,* Akihoughought. *This is even more boiling than his normal bathwater.* He imagined his skin would have a boiled-lobster hue when he finally emerged.

“Wait till you see what’s next after this,” Hikaru said, continuing to caress, his fingers brushing a nipple, making Akira jump.

“Next?” he said. “What’s next?”

Hikaru just kissed his lips lightly and said, “You’ll see.”

Akira settled back into the water, frowning a bit. This was unlike Hikaru, who normally was very spontaneous when it came to sex. This seemed almost like a performance, like Hikaru was choreographing some kind of porno film. (Not that Akira had *seen* any of those, mind you. But this was a lot like how he imagined such a thing would be like.)

Hikaru smiled to himself. So far, it was going well. Now, he just had to remember what was in “One Thousand and One Erotic Nights” . . . or was that “Honeymoon for Life”? Damn books were all starting to run together.

Hikaru leaned over and ran his hands along Akira’s arms, the fingers just barely skimming the skin. Akira moaned a little at the touch . . . just enough so that he could feel it . . . the hands were moving over his shoulders now, caressing and kneading as he’d done before.

This was doing nothing to help the aching hardness between his legs that had been aroused by Hikaru’s playful touches of before. Akira couldn’t wait for *what came next*, eithen fan fact, he was about ready to tell Hikaru to drop whatever this *performance* was, dry off and come to bed, *now*.

Hikaru was standing up, and Akira started to follow, only to find himself pushed gently down. “Nope. Not yet.”

“Hikaru, what the hell are you . . .”

“Hey, trust me, already!”

Akira submerged himself in the water as he watched the boy towel himself off lightly, then head out the door. There were sounds in the bedroom, a bit of scuffling, plastic ripping . . .

And then, a squeak-huff, squeak-huff noise that he couldn’t place at first. *If I didn’t know better,* Akira thought, *I’d think that was a bicycle pump. But that’s ridiculous. What on earth would Shindou use a *bicycle pump* for?*

Then, Hikaru’s voice from just outside the door -- “Close your eyes.”

“Shindou, what are you . . .”

“Just close them!”

Akira heaved a deep sigh and did as he was told. His patience was growing thin, his erection wasn’t getting any less painful, and all he could think was, *This had better be worth it.*

There were footsteps, and then a funny *whumph* noise and a slight breeze as something was dropped to the floor. Then the sound of Hikaru getting back in the tub and splashing a little, as if to make sure his whole body were wet.

Hikaru stood up, reaching for Akira’s hands. “Now stand up and get out of the tub . . .”

“I can’t do that with my eyes closed!”

“Geez! You think I’d let you fall?”

Akira was having none of that. He opened his eyes long and far enough to see the rim of the tub and stepped out.

And saw, out of the corner of his eye, a big rubber mattress -- the kind you’d float on in a swimming pool.

“What is THAT?”

Hikaru caressed his back. “Just lie down on it.”

“Lie down on it? Shindou, this is starting to get. . .”

“Look, excuse me for trying to put some extra spice in our lives!” Hikaru snapped.

“Spice?” Akira said. “This is starting to get *bizarre*!”

“How are you gonna know where I’m going with this if you don’t do what I say?”

Akira sighed and lay out on the mattress, on his back. *If this turns out to be something weird,* he thought, *I’m locking him out of the bedroom for life.* But he knew he just wanted Hikaru to do something, anything, to make the aching at his core go away.

Hikaru took the tube of shower gel and squirted a generous amount onto his hands, working it into a lather. Akira noticed that Hikaru had placed their tube of lubricant and a condom package beside it.

The d knd knelt beside his supine lover and began to smooth the suds over his torso, moving from his chest down to his thighs, bypassing the organ that most needed his touch. *He’s lathering me *again*?* Akira thought. *Didn’t we do this once?*

Hikaru lay on top of his lover, full-length, and began to slide back, slowly, making sure every part of his skin was touching Akira.

Akira let out a gasp . . . the suds were cutting down the friction, so all he felt was a pleasant rubbing down his chest, then stomach . . . and then Hikaru’s manhood was contacting his, and he let out a cry, then another as the boy slid upward, breaking the contact.

But Akira felt Hikaru’s erection slide over his stomach, then chest, then back again. Hikaru let out a loud moan at this. So did Akira.

Hikaru shifted so he was on all fours, his chest and stomach against Akira’s but his hips held back enough so their erections were kept apart, and began to move in a rapid circular motion, literally massaging body-to-body.

Akira groaned, his hands reaching up to grab Hikaru’s bottom and squeeze, thrusting his hips upward, wanting Hikaru to rub against his lower regions, too . . . but the boy just pulled back more, avoiding contact, making Akira nearly whimper with frustration.

Hikaru sat up and gently pushed Akira on the shoulder, tipping him to the side, indicating he wanted him to turn over. Akira obeyed, kee his his knees bent a bit so that his aching hardness did not rub directly against the rubber of the mat, which would *not* have been comfortable.

There was the sensation of Hikaru’s sudsy hands moving over his back, smoothing down toward his bottom. Akira found himself biting down on his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut, his whole body feeling ready to burst into flame. When Hikaru’s hands lightly caressed his upturned rump, he thought he *had* burst into flame.

Hikaru’s body was on his again, his chest pressed against the gently rounded cheeks, moving upward slowly, too slowly, running over the small of his back, then upward . . . Akira felt Hikaru’s belly against his sensitive flesh now, and he arched upward, anticipating the feel of his lover’s erection rubbing against the cleft.

Instead, Hikaru pulled back, his chest sliding downward again, and Akira let out a long, low sound of frustration. Hikaru smiled to himself. That was just going to make what was to come later all the more sweeter.

He slid upward again, rubbing in circles as he did before, his chest swirling against Akira’s back. He felt the pleasure radiating from his nipples to the core of his being, and Hikaru shuddered a little . . . oh, yes, Hikaru was aching nearly as badly as Akira was, but he wanted to hold out for as long as both of them could stand it.

He moved up Akira’s body, rubbing, swirling, caressing, his shoulderswingwing closer to Akira’s, his manhood growing closer to Akira’s bottom. And then the hardened flesh slid between the firm cheeks . . .

. . . for a split second. Hikaru slid back down again, rapidly, and Akira let out a much louder groan of frustration.

Hikaru paused with his chest just shy of Akira’s rump, wriggling in circles again, feeling Akira wriggle along with him, the boys locked in a heated dance of sorts.

Then he moved upward, just as rapidly, and slid his manhood right between the cheeks of his ass, not penetrating, but just rubbing against the cleft. Akira thrust upward, gasping, pumping his hips, and Hikaru pumped along with him, throwing his head back and panting as he felt the firm flesh encase him, brush over him again and again.

“Ohhh, gods,” Akira moaned . . . this was exquisite torture, delicious and maddening at the same time, all that pleasure coming from his bottom, but his erection still aching, still needing release that wasn’t coming.

“Akira,” Hikaru groaned, thrusting faster. He knew he had to stop . . . he was going to come soon, he didn’t want to, not until he brought Akira to fulfillment as well.

He eased away, and Akira almost whimpered. He turned over, to see the boy holding the tube and condom packet in his hand.

“Your choice,” Hikaru said. “Me on you, or you on me?”

Akira reached out for the items. “How about me inside you, but you straddling me?”

“Hmm . . .” This was something they had never done. It fit the tone of the rest of the evening. “Okay!”

Hikaru got on all fours next to the mattress, leaning his bottom back so Akira could prepare him. He was so relaxed and aroused that the first finger went in with very little resistance and pain, and when the pleasure came, Hikaru had to bite his knuckles to keep from going over the edge . . . and bite them harder when a second finger slid in.

Oh, yes, this was not going to take long at all.

Akira slid out the fingers and wiped them off on a nearby towel, quickly putting on the condom and lubing it. Hikaru swung a leg overttintting astride him, and leaned back, wriggling around . . . this wasn’t as easy as it first seemed. Every angle he tried just seemed to have the tip of his manhood pressing on a spot just above his opening, or just below. He moved his hips this way, that way . . .

Akira grasped his own erection, guiding it toward Hikaru’s entrance. And then, at long last, he connected, and started to slide in. There was the familiar sharp pain on first penetration, but Hikaru persisted, pushing down by degrees.

Akira looked at his lover moving down on him, eyes closed in passion, erection standing against his belly. Gods, but he was beautiful.

His fingers reached out and wrapped around Hikaru’s manhood, and as the boy began to thrust, Akira began to stroke to the same rhythm.

This just made Hikaru moan deeply in pleasure -- this was almost more than he could stand, the sweet sensations coming from front and back. He moved his hips faster, up and down, feeling his lover fill him, leave him, fill him again.

Akira’s eyes fluttered closed and his head tossed back and forth, hair softly sweeping over the rubber beneath them, as the tight heat enveloped him, seeming to bore straight through to the core of his body. He raised his hips to meet Hikaru’s every motion, his hand moving faster, wanting the boy to feel the same pleasure he was, to experience the same luscious near-madness.

Hikaru leaned forward a little, then back a little, his hips churning straight up and down, then in figure eights, feeling the differences in pressure, in stimulation -- light tingles here, a deep, throbbing, intense sensation there, and *here* . . .

There was a sudden explosion within him of heat and light, and Hikaru jerked his hips upward as he let out a yelp, wave after wave of luscious sensation flooding him, ebbing away, then flooding him again . . .

The sudden tugging of Hikaru’s sheath made Akira cry out in surprise, and then he suddenly felt himself seized with his own heated shudders, shaking him to the core over and over, his hips thrusting up against Hikaru again and again, until he sagged to the mattress, and Hikaru collapsed atop him.

Akira clung to Hikaru, kissing him softly, brushing his fingers over his hair. Hikaru snuggled against him, purring.

“Hey,” Hikaru said. “How was that?”

Akira raised his head. “Do you really need to ask that?” He kissed the top of his head. “Where on earth did you get those ideas?”

“Well, remember when you did sex research?” Hikaru shifted so he was lying with his head on Akira’s chest. “I did research myself.”

“You mean you finally learned to use the Net?”

“Nope,” Hikaru said, his fingers tracing patterns on Akira’s chest. “I went to a library, and read a bunch of books. Mostly sex manuals. And there was one about what happens in Soaplands. That’s what I did for you. I was a soap-boy.” He raised his head so he could look Akira in the eye. “Hey, I thought it would be hot.”

“Hot?” A shudder ran through Akira at the thought of the body-on-body friction, Hikaru’s manhood rubbing along the cleft of his bottom. “It was . . . unbelievable.”

“I read about a lot more stuff, too,” Hikaru said.

Akira took Hikaru’s hand and kissed it. “We can do the other stuff you read about after the tournament. We both need to focus on that now.”

He knew that when the tournament started, their relationship would shift gears entirely.

*I still won’t lose to you,* he thought. *You’re still the only player I consider a threat, Shindou Hikaru.*

___________

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