[Mizuta]
by daisy_chan
Less Like Surrender
Hikaru fumbles for the keys to his flat from within the starchy depth of his dress trouser pocket. His hands are too clammy and his mind too scattered to properly function with Touya painting a line of heat along his side, hand searing at his hip.
Touya’s face has a serious bend to it and his eyes are just as exacting as they had been when Touya had followed Hikaru into the cab earlier, in front of everyone, and completely unbidden. As though it were a perfectly natural assumption.
This was completely unlike the other times. This wasn’t some nondescript hotel room or at some rowdy, low lit bar, but Hikaru’s own home. The circumstances could hardly be called extenuating as an excuse this time. It had been like any other night, save for Akira’s presence here and now, smooth nose brushing against the hairline of Hikaru’s neck, his ear, his jaw.
And most of all they were stone cold sober, despite the tingling turns Hikaru’s stomach was making.
After falling into bed with Touya off and on for months and months after losing this tournament or for that stretch of logic, this was deliberate. This was Touya’s deliberate, public, breathtaking choice.
And Hikaru was more than just letting him.
The whole Go world was already all over themselves with how they were destined for each other and what now, and as red as the gossip never failed to turn the back of his neck and sicken his gut with pressure not to screw this one thing up, Hikaru thought to hell with them.
When the key snicks into the lock, Touya’s hand is on his wrist, and Hikaru finds it obscenely difficult to think of anything else, but the shudder of his pulse running down Hikaru’s fingertips and into the steady grip of Touya’s palm.
He thinks he should feel more captured-- trapped in the certainties that everyone else has, but that Hikaru himself isn’t so certain of.
Instead, he shuts the door behind Touya, like he’s done a dozen times before, and pulls Touya to him, all gentle fingers in impossibly straight hair. Touya’s hands are familiar on the curve of his jaw, the nape of his neck, and his back is to the wall, but he’s arching into a kiss that he too has chosen, that he too takes responsibility in. It couldn’t feel less like a surrender under his tongue.
They end up in the nook of a balcony that gave way into the fire escape after an embarrassingly scant number of steps. Hikaru spends most of his nights out here, a beer in one hand and his thoughts free to mill about, as he looks out from his five story walk up into the city.
Now, he falls back into the hammock out of habit, bypassing the plastic lawn chairs he usually deferred to when company came round, and laughs, delighted, into a kiss when Touya muddles after him, all knees and arms, slipping through the holes before Touya got to him, is on him.
As they fold together, Hikaru holds Touya there, firm at the rise of his shoulder blades, and feels his own spine grow lazy and accommodating.
It would be just as easy for Hikaru to curl his arm around Akira’s waist and down the loose fit on his pants. He could turn Touya from him and crawl down, lips fitting around the shape of the cock Hikaru feels hardening against his thigh. He could use teeth and nail and pull Touya apart again and again, for all his building, for all the world to hear. Hikaru would open Touya wide with his vulnerabilities and take part of them until neither of them could speak for panting.
He knew Touya could just as well do the same to him.
Instead, Hikaru stays where he’s been put. He nudges in, just a bit closer than close, until their cheeks are pressed together and Touya’s breath is a sweet puff down the side of his throat and Hikaru is in perfect striking range to press his lips to the shell of Touya’s ear.
Less Like Surrender
Hikaru fumbles for the keys to his flat from within the starchy depth of his dress trouser pocket. His hands are too clammy and his mind too scattered to properly function with Touya painting a line of heat along his side, hand searing at his hip.
Touya’s face has a serious bend to it and his eyes are just as exacting as they had been when Touya had followed Hikaru into the cab earlier, in front of everyone, and completely unbidden. As though it were a perfectly natural assumption.
This was completely unlike the other times. This wasn’t some nondescript hotel room or at some rowdy, low lit bar, but Hikaru’s own home. The circumstances could hardly be called extenuating as an excuse this time. It had been like any other night, save for Akira’s presence here and now, smooth nose brushing against the hairline of Hikaru’s neck, his ear, his jaw.
And most of all they were stone cold sober, despite the tingling turns Hikaru’s stomach was making.
After falling into bed with Touya off and on for months and months after losing this tournament or for that stretch of logic, this was deliberate. This was Touya’s deliberate, public, breathtaking choice.
And Hikaru was more than just letting him.
The whole Go world was already all over themselves with how they were destined for each other and what now, and as red as the gossip never failed to turn the back of his neck and sicken his gut with pressure not to screw this one thing up, Hikaru thought to hell with them.
When the key snicks into the lock, Touya’s hand is on his wrist, and Hikaru finds it obscenely difficult to think of anything else, but the shudder of his pulse running down Hikaru’s fingertips and into the steady grip of Touya’s palm.
He thinks he should feel more captured-- trapped in the certainties that everyone else has, but that Hikaru himself isn’t so certain of.
Instead, he shuts the door behind Touya, like he’s done a dozen times before, and pulls Touya to him, all gentle fingers in impossibly straight hair. Touya’s hands are familiar on the curve of his jaw, the nape of his neck, and his back is to the wall, but he’s arching into a kiss that he too has chosen, that he too takes responsibility in. It couldn’t feel less like a surrender under his tongue.
They end up in the nook of a balcony that gave way into the fire escape after an embarrassingly scant number of steps. Hikaru spends most of his nights out here, a beer in one hand and his thoughts free to mill about, as he looks out from his five story walk up into the city.
Now, he falls back into the hammock out of habit, bypassing the plastic lawn chairs he usually deferred to when company came round, and laughs, delighted, into a kiss when Touya muddles after him, all knees and arms, slipping through the holes before Touya got to him, is on him.
As they fold together, Hikaru holds Touya there, firm at the rise of his shoulder blades, and feels his own spine grow lazy and accommodating.
It would be just as easy for Hikaru to curl his arm around Akira’s waist and down the loose fit on his pants. He could turn Touya from him and crawl down, lips fitting around the shape of the cock Hikaru feels hardening against his thigh. He could use teeth and nail and pull Touya apart again and again, for all his building, for all the world to hear. Hikaru would open Touya wide with his vulnerabilities and take part of them until neither of them could speak for panting.
He knew Touya could just as well do the same to him.
Instead, Hikaru stays where he’s been put. He nudges in, just a bit closer than close, until their cheeks are pressed together and Touya’s breath is a sweet puff down the side of his throat and Hikaru is in perfect striking range to press his lips to the shell of Touya’s ear.