HnG fic: Take Me Now
Type: Fanfiction
Series: Hikaru no Go
Title: Take Me Now
Rating: R
Pairings: Hikaru/Akira/Hikaru
Disclaimer: Belongs to Hotta Yumi and Obata Takeshi. I do not own them.
Comments: It’s way early in the morning, this is on crack and has only been spell-checked. A drabble-ish thing nspired by a very short rant at the lj comm fanficrants.
*****
Playing Go was a quest for the ultimate game. A quest for the ever-elusive Hand of God. And one day, Touya Akira was determined that he would be the first one to reach that lofty goal. He had everything he needed to reach it, too: talent, passion for the game, an overwhelming determination, and his eternal rival.
His eternal rival, who -- at the moment -- was being more of a hindrance than a blessing. Why was Shindou fidgeting so much, stretching his shirt across a flat stomach, a well-formed chest? Akira’s heartbeat picked up a pace. Did his brilliant green eyes have to flicker between the goban and Akira’s face so many times? It was causing a tightening in his stomach. Did Shindou have to gnaw at his lips until they were red and swollen and moist? Akira’s face was flushed.
This was Go. He should be thinking about the game, not about throwing Shindou to the ground and fucking him until he was writhing on the floor in unbridled passion, tanned skin glistening with sweat. That would be most inappropriate. Akira couldn’t let his fantasies interfere with the game. The game was the most important thing, despite the enticing image of Shindou naked with desire burning in his eyes and his hands caressing down Akira’s body-
Right. The game.
Why hadn’t Shindou placed a stone?
Shindou locked his eyes with Akira’s and Akira’s breath caught, a choking lump clogging up his airway.
What game?
“Touya,” Shindou stated, as bluntly as ever, “I love you.”
“Oh.” The lump moved and Akira responded. “I love you, too.”
Shindou beamed and leaned forward. “So, your place or mine?”
“Shindou!”
“No? Well, I guess doing it here’s fine, too!” And Shindou lunged.
Akira was on the floor, Shindou on top of him -- and damn it, was the ground cold, but who cared since he never knew that Shindou could do that with his tongue. Several objections that he should voice crossed Akira’s mind, however, Shindou was doing very distracting things with his hands and mouth and Akira was not going to let his eternal rival top him. He meant that literally, too.
Their clothes flew, go stones scattered, and everything was a lovely mess of sex. Shindou writhed and groaned and Akira reveled in the press of their bodies together, sweaty flesh against sweaty flesh and the taste of Shindou thick with salt and lust. What game, indeed. Who cared if his favorite dress shirt had been ruined. His mother could always buy him another pink one. It was worth it, just for the sight of Shindou wanting him.
The rush came, an inexplicable high of ecstasy, and Akira cried out, Shindou’s voice following in backup. Black spots danced in his vision and Akira collapsed next to Shindou, fingers idly tracing past games on his lover’s bare skin and allowing his brain to free itself from the hazy aftermath of orgasm.
A process made all the faster by the knowledge that they were being watched. He slowly turned his head and weakly smiled. The patrons of his father’s go salon stood around them, some cursing underneath their breath, while others grinned like madmen, and all of them exchanging money. Of course, Ichikawa was there, too, her smile bright and big, a video camera in her hand recording everything. That had been one of his silently observed objections, Akira noted. Sex should not be had in his father’s go salon.
He blushed, “Um, Ichikawa-san . . .”
“Oh, don’t worry, Touya-kun!” She beamed and smartly turned the video camera off. “I’ll let you have a copy for half-price!”
“I-I-Ichikawa-san!”
“Do I get it for half-price, too?”
“SHINDOU!”
Series: Hikaru no Go
Title: Take Me Now
Rating: R
Pairings: Hikaru/Akira/Hikaru
Disclaimer: Belongs to Hotta Yumi and Obata Takeshi. I do not own them.
Comments: It’s way early in the morning, this is on crack and has only been spell-checked. A drabble-ish thing nspired by a very short rant at the lj comm fanficrants.
*****
Playing Go was a quest for the ultimate game. A quest for the ever-elusive Hand of God. And one day, Touya Akira was determined that he would be the first one to reach that lofty goal. He had everything he needed to reach it, too: talent, passion for the game, an overwhelming determination, and his eternal rival.
His eternal rival, who -- at the moment -- was being more of a hindrance than a blessing. Why was Shindou fidgeting so much, stretching his shirt across a flat stomach, a well-formed chest? Akira’s heartbeat picked up a pace. Did his brilliant green eyes have to flicker between the goban and Akira’s face so many times? It was causing a tightening in his stomach. Did Shindou have to gnaw at his lips until they were red and swollen and moist? Akira’s face was flushed.
This was Go. He should be thinking about the game, not about throwing Shindou to the ground and fucking him until he was writhing on the floor in unbridled passion, tanned skin glistening with sweat. That would be most inappropriate. Akira couldn’t let his fantasies interfere with the game. The game was the most important thing, despite the enticing image of Shindou naked with desire burning in his eyes and his hands caressing down Akira’s body-
Right. The game.
Why hadn’t Shindou placed a stone?
Shindou locked his eyes with Akira’s and Akira’s breath caught, a choking lump clogging up his airway.
What game?
“Touya,” Shindou stated, as bluntly as ever, “I love you.”
“Oh.” The lump moved and Akira responded. “I love you, too.”
Shindou beamed and leaned forward. “So, your place or mine?”
“Shindou!”
“No? Well, I guess doing it here’s fine, too!” And Shindou lunged.
Akira was on the floor, Shindou on top of him -- and damn it, was the ground cold, but who cared since he never knew that Shindou could do that with his tongue. Several objections that he should voice crossed Akira’s mind, however, Shindou was doing very distracting things with his hands and mouth and Akira was not going to let his eternal rival top him. He meant that literally, too.
Their clothes flew, go stones scattered, and everything was a lovely mess of sex. Shindou writhed and groaned and Akira reveled in the press of their bodies together, sweaty flesh against sweaty flesh and the taste of Shindou thick with salt and lust. What game, indeed. Who cared if his favorite dress shirt had been ruined. His mother could always buy him another pink one. It was worth it, just for the sight of Shindou wanting him.
The rush came, an inexplicable high of ecstasy, and Akira cried out, Shindou’s voice following in backup. Black spots danced in his vision and Akira collapsed next to Shindou, fingers idly tracing past games on his lover’s bare skin and allowing his brain to free itself from the hazy aftermath of orgasm.
A process made all the faster by the knowledge that they were being watched. He slowly turned his head and weakly smiled. The patrons of his father’s go salon stood around them, some cursing underneath their breath, while others grinned like madmen, and all of them exchanging money. Of course, Ichikawa was there, too, her smile bright and big, a video camera in her hand recording everything. That had been one of his silently observed objections, Akira noted. Sex should not be had in his father’s go salon.
He blushed, “Um, Ichikawa-san . . .”
“Oh, don’t worry, Touya-kun!” She beamed and smartly turned the video camera off. “I’ll let you have a copy for half-price!”
“I-I-Ichikawa-san!”
“Do I get it for half-price, too?”
“SHINDOU!”