Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3851932.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hikaru_no_Go
  Relationship:
      Shindou_Hikaru/Touya_Akira
  Character:
      Shindou_Hikaru, Touya_Akira
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Boys_Kissing, Hand_Jobs, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Board_Games, Awkward_Sexual_Situations
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-05 Words: 2973
****** Playing ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Finally Shindou sets a stone down, the faint click of the impact
     strikes spark to the tinder of Touya’s irritation, and he’s rocking
     up onto his knees without thinking, only a deep-set respect for Go
     boards keeping him from slamming his hand against the surface." Touya
     comes over to play a game of Go with Shindou and they end up doing
     more than was promised.
Touya knows he’s going to win the game.
It’s rare for him to be so certain so far before the conclusion of the match
itself. Usually he and Shindou come to the realize within a hand of each other,
resignation coming hard on the heels of the awareness so they can lapse into
arguing over the game, or start a new round, or any number of more entertaining
ways to spend time than dragging out a known conclusion. But Shindou keeps
playing for another hand, two, three, until it’s been almost ten minutes and
Touya is spending more time glaring at the other boy than watching the board.
Finally Shindou sets a stone down, the faint click of the impact strikes spark
to the tinder of Touya’s irritation, and he’s rocking up onto his knees without
thinking, only a deep-set respect for Go boards keeping him from slamming his
hand against the surface.
“Shindou.” His voice is cracking embarrassingly high but he can’t seem to call
it back, doesn’t have any option but to push forward with his speech. “What
is wrong with you?”
“Huh?” Shindou looks up, his eyes wide and shocked. “What are you talking
about?”
Touya has a brief flashback, years-old memory of frustration at a high school
tournament and eyes gone soft with an apology he didn’t understand. But this is
Shindou as he is now, stripped of whatever strange inconsistency he had then,
and he can play better than this, Touya knows.
“You’ve lost,” he snaps, words grating over his tongue as his fingers curl into
fists at his palms. “Are you even paying attention?”
“What?” Shindou looks down, a hand coming up to push through the lighter
strands of hair framing his face. Touya can see the awareness spread slow over
his features, his eyes going wide with realization. “Oh.”
“I thought you said you wanted to play,” Touya growls. There’s a pain in his
chest, tightness catching in his throat, until he has to cough to clear away
the emotion staining his words. “If you’re not interested, then I’ll just go
home.”
“That’s not it!” Shindou blurts, waving his hands and leaning in closer. His
hair falls over his face, the shadow casting his features into not-quite-
familiarity, and Touya hesitates with his whole body wound tight on the
intention to leave.
Shindou reaches out, his fingers catching and dragging against the edge of
Touya’s sleeve as if to hold him where he is. There’s a rush of warmth in
Touya’s blood, like steam is filling his veins in place of calmer liquid, but
he doesn’t move, either to return the contact or to pull away.
“That’s not it,” Shindou says again, a little more evenly. His mouth works,
twisting around a frown for a moment before returning to its usual line; even
under the shadow of his hair, Touya can see color rising under his skin and
going dark across his cheeks. He coughs, hard like he’s taken a breath the
wrong way, and his fingers tighten on Touya’s sleeve. “I do want to play.”
“Then play,” Touya snaps, but he’s still not pulling away; his hand is caught
in midair, hovering over the board like he’s reaching out for the stones in
obedience to the tug of Shindou’s fingers. “What are you thinking about that’s
so distracting?”
Shindou looks up. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are wide, dark with the
beginnings of apology, but it’s his mouth Touya’s gaze drops to, the damp
clinging to his lips and the way they’re starting to part around the words
Touya suddenly doesn’t need to hear.
“You said you wanted to play,” he offers, the protest weak even to his own
ears, but Shindou is rocking up on his knees and reaching out to brace a hand
against the top of the board. The game scatters into unintelligibility under
his fingertips, stones skidding away to spill to the floor, but Touya doesn’t
frame words around that protest either; Shindou’s too close now, the warm of
his breathing coming hot against Touya’s lips.
“You always say no unless I ask for a game,” Shindou says, and then his mouth
is against Touya’s, lips fitting against the other’s like they were made to
press together. Touya’s eyelashes flutter, the heat of contact still
distracting even on what is far from the first time, but he’s still the one to
pull back after a moment, reaches for a complaint around the way his pulse is
running faster under his skin.
“You shouldn’t ask for a game if you just wanted to kiss,” he insists.
Shindou heaves a sigh. “I don’t see why we can’t do both,” he says, and he’s
leaning in farther, tipping so far over the board Touya imagines he can hear it
creak.
“Shindou--” he starts, and Shindou kisses him again, this time with the almost-
friction of his tongue too, so when Touya opens his mouth to speak Shindou ends
up licking against the inside of his mouth instead. He still wants to protest,
can still see the shape of an argument in his thoughts, but Shindou’s fingers
are coming up to slide under his hair and weight at the back of his neck, and
the heat at his mouth is sparkling out into his veins, and he can’t quite reach
the coherency he needs. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t want to pull away, and
when finally Shindou is the one to draw back and gasp for air the only thing
Touya can think to say is, “Not the board.”
“Huh?” Shindou looks a little bit lost, his shoulders tense and his mouth soft,
and he’s leaning back in like he’s thinking about brushing aside his confusion
with another kiss.
Touya reaches out, closes his fingers on Shindou’s bracing wrist. The contact
with the other’s bare skin cracks electricity up his arm to ground out along
his spine. “Stop leaning on the board.”
Shindou looks down, like he’s only just realized what he’s doing. “Oh.” A burst
of laughter, the sound throwing Touya sharply back in time to when they were
children in truth instead of the nearly-adults they are now. Shindou moves his
hand, leaning back so he can keep his balance without the support, and before
Touya can decide if he’s more relieved to have the threat to the board removed
or frustrated by the widened gap between them Shindou crawls around the corner,
reaches out to link his other hand atop the one still clinging to Touya’s neck,
and he can’t remember how to breathe again.
“Happy now?” Shindou asks, and Touya is, is starting to smile unwillingly even
before Shindou tips back in to kiss him again. His hands are warm, faintly
sweaty and sticking to Touya’s skin when either of them move. When Touya
reaches out his fingertips bump against fabric, the impossible softness
Shindou’s t-shirts always have, and then he opens his mouth again and lets his
eyes shut and forgets about the board next to them for a minute. It feels like
blasphemy, to admit even in his head that something might be more important
than Go, but within the moment his heart is racing like he’s in the middle of a
game and his hands are trembling against Shindou’s waist and when he shuts his
eyes he can see fireworks, light and beauty bursting into existence at
Shindou’s call. Shindou’s tongue slides against Touya’s lips, the fingers at
Touya’s neck slide by an inch, and Touya whimpers without thinking, the sound
dropping off his tongue and into Shindou’s mouth before he can think.
Shindou makes a weird noise, a funny broken exhale that feels loud on Touya’s
mouth, and then he’s closer, pressing in so hard Touya has to let one of his
hands go, reach out behind himself to brace his backwards motions from turning
into a fall. Their mouths break apart, Touya’s heart thrumming a pattern
against the inside of his ribcage while Shindou gulps air like he’s forgotten
how to breathe.
“I’ll play you again after,” Shindou says, words spilling in a rush over his
lips. “A real game, when I’m not distracted.”
“After what?” Touya asks, trying to sound aggressive and resistant and not sure
he succeeds in sounding anything other than breathless. Shindou’s gaze drops to
his mouth, Shindou’s fingers drop from his neck, and then there’s the friction
of a kiss and a hand at his hip at once, and Touya’s distracted again.
Shindou’s better at this than he ought to be; without the advantage of years of
practice the speed of his learning well outpaces Touya’s, until it’s all Touya
can do to keep himself upright under the push of Shindou’s lips and the warm
slide of his tongue. The fingers at his hips are coming sideways, Shindou’s
knee is fitting in between Touya’s, and then there’s pressure against the front
of Touya’s jeans and he’s gasping and jerking back, his hand coming up to
Shindou’s shoulder to hold him back by a few inches.
“Shindou,” and that is a squeak, there’s no other way to interpret the sound in
his throat. “What are you doing?”
Shindou’s expression falls, his eyes going wide and faintly pleading; Touya’s
pretty sure he’s not aware of the soft curve of his lip, or of the way his
forehead creases together between his eyebrows. “Do you not want to?” He looks
down, pushes in a little harder with his hand, and Touya has to shut his mouth
firmly on the moan that tries to spill up his throat. “You feel like you want
to.”
“What?” Touya blurts; then, fast, because Shindou might take that as a request
to repeat himself: “That--that has nothing to do with it!”
“I want to,” Shindou declares, and he’s leaning in closer, his eyes are
dropping to land heavy at Touya’s mouth again. “I think about it a lot.” His
hand isn’t moving, either to press in or pull away; Touya can feel the thud of
his heartbeat coming hard in his throat, his body pulsing hot against Shindou’s
hand, and this is not the right line of thinking. “Don’t you think about me?”
“No,” Touya lies, trying to keep himself from rocking up to press harder
against Shindou’s hand. He succeeds, for a moment; then Shindou takes a breath,
his hand slips an inch, and Touya doesn’t have a chance to stop himself from
groaning and dropping his hand to clutch at Shindou’s wrist, holding him steady
so he can push up against it. It’s not enough -- there’s no real satisfaction
in it -- but the burn shivers out through his veins pleasantly enough, and his
face flares hot with sensation instead of self-consciousness, and when Shindou
takes a breath Touya is speaking before he can hear the question.
“Just stop asking,” he grates, keeping his eyes on Shindou’s shoulder instead
of at his face so he doesn’t have to confront the other’s gaze. His skin is
hot, his fingers flexing unconsciously on Shindou’s wrist before he can get
himself to let go so he can reach out and grab at the other’s shirt instead.
He can hear the breath Shindou lets out, the rush of air hissing past his lips
like relief and shock at the same time. And then, “Okay,” he says, and his
fingers are moving, and Touya has to shut his eyes and focus all his attention
on closing his mouth on the sound he wants to make. There’s pressure against
his jeans, fumbling fingers pushing against the button and feeling for the pull
of the zipper, and he’s painfully, brilliantly aware of how hard he is, that
every movement of Shindou’s fingertips is bumping against the giveaway pressure
against the front of his pants. But even with his eyes shut he can hear Shindou
breathing, the sound rushing fast in his throat and catching occasionally like
he’s losing the rhythm, and then there are fingers pressing hot against the
bare skin at Touya’s stomach and he sucks in an enormous inhale all at once.
“Oh god,” he gasps, “Shindou” and Shindou’s touching him, his fingers dragging
down and closing into a hold that is as unfamiliar as it is satisfying. The
heat from his hand burns out into Touya’s blood, Touya’s gasping and arching up
and Shindou’s groaning, a weird low sound almost like he’s been hit. The hold
around Touya drags up, a little too-tight and at a weird angle, but the
friction is like a wave crashing over his head, the burn trembling along his
legs and up the base of his spine.
“Touya,” Shindou breathes, sounding shattered and shocked, and Touya’s reaching
without thinking, dragging his fingers free of the other’s shirt to catch at
the top edge of his shorts instead. It feels like overstepping, like he’s
toppling forward over a wall that didn’t exist at all, but then Shindou’s
fingers tighten on him and Shindou makes this shocked-open sound, like his
throat is opening up in anticipation, and Touya grabs at the elastic waistband
and drags at the clothing. He still doesn’t have his eyes open -- he’s not sure
he could keep doing what he’s doing, if he could see -- but as it turns out
it’s not hard to push Shindou’s clothes half-off his hips, and then there’s
just skin, warm and radiant, and when Touya moves his fingers the weight of
Shindou’s cock presses in against his palm before he can think.
He snatches his hand back, impulse coupled with an anxious apology on his lips,
but Shindou’s making that broken sound again, framing his voice around a “Yes”
so low and shaky Touya can feel it tighten in his chest like bands wrapping
around him. When he reaches back out Shindou rocks up to meet him, and his
sustained grip slides up over Touya, and Touya moves all at once to wrap his
fingers into a hold and move before he can overthink it.
It’s not really a rhythm. There’s too much desperation there, panic so high in
Touya’s veins excitement is only barely winning out, adrenaline racing arousal
until it’s hard to remember how to breathe. But he can hear Shindou’s breathing
cracking with every one of his movements, like it’s the other boy’s inhales
under his fingers instead of the flushed heat of his cock, and Touya’s thoughts
are going hazy, too fogged-over into warmth for him to remember to be self-
conscious. Shindou’s fingers are steady on him, jerking up with enough force to
make up for the complete lack of any technique, and Touya has the brief flicker
of awareness that they must look like what they are, young and inexperienced
and too achingly desperate to stop. It’s only for a moment; then
he’s actually picturing them, the slide of his fingers over Shindou and
Shindou’s over him, and he doesn’t realize he’s opened his eyes until he blinks
himself into focus on Shindou’s gaze.
“Oh,” he says, and “Touya,” Shindou says, faint and breathless like it’s a
prayer, and all the shivering warmth in Touya’s body coalesces hot and
trembling in his veins. His knees fall open, his throat goes tight, and
suddenly he’s shaking, heat is washing through him and curling him in over
Shindou’s hand as he gasps through his orgasm. His forehead is pressed to
Shindou’s shoulder, his shoulders are shaking, but his hand is still moving
without any conscious thought, as if he’s jerking himself through the
aftershocks instead of it being Shindou’s fingers catching up over him.
Shindou’s mouth lands against his hair, there’s a gust of an exhale blowing the
strands against his face, and then Shindou groans, a sharp short cut-off noise,
and spills hot all across Touya’s fingers.
There’s just heat, at first, tingling up Touya’s spine and blowing through his
hair and sticky on his fingers. Then Shindou’s hand slows, loosens, and with
the other boy shuddering into stillness against him Touya follows suit, feeling
lost and uncertain. They’re both quiet for a moment, breathing hard enough
Touya can hear Shindou’s inhales as clearly as his own; then Shindou lifts his
head, looks around the room in search of something, and Touya can feel himself
starting to flush crimson as Shindou tips sideways and reaches out for the
tissues beside his bed. It’s silent for a few minutes while they both clean up;
it’s a familiar process, at least, even if the setting and the company is
making Touya consider melting through the floor with embarrassment.
Shindou’s the one to speak, finally. “Hey. Touya.”
Touya looks up. Shindou’s watching him, his forehead pressed into that crease
again and his mouth tight on some repressed expression. “You aren’t mad at me,
are you?”
“What?” Touya blurts, startled into response in spite of the blush burning all
across his cheeks. “No. Why would I be mad at you?”
Shindou’s mouth shifts, twists, slips wide to split into a grin. “You forgot
about the game.”
Touya looks at the board, scattered now into a meaningless array of white and
black; even then, it’s hard to pull back in his memory to find the thread of
conversation, to remember that he was ever angry at all.
“Oh,” he says as the recollection hits, then “You jerk,” and Shindou starts to
laugh as Touya reaches out to hit at him, gets an arm up in time to catch the
other’s half-hearted punch. Touya wants to be angry but Shindou’s laughter is
contagious, the other boy’s amusement falling into resonance with the lingering
pleasure in his veins, and when he tries to swing again Shindou catches his
hand and holds onto him so he can duck in for another kiss.
It’s a while still before they settle back down to the promised game. For once,
Touya doesn’t mind the delay.
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