[Shindou's laughter is so bubbly, so warm, like hot water churning up from a spring. It's wonderful. It fills Akira with this interesting sort of excitement: he does want to laugh with Shindou. He's looking forward to laughing like that, too. He combs through Shindou's hair another time, its smoothness between his fingers a delight...
Just the name Yoshida 9-dan brings Akira's hand to still, deep in Shindou's hair though it is. He remembers that summer. He was angry for what felt like much of that summer, his head and his bones feeling colder then than even the weather right now. Here, he isn't looking angry. He is frowning, he has lost the sensitivity and sweetness at his lips, but he isn't angry. Forlorn, more like. Disappointed, like he'd put all his hope in something only to see it thoroughly drowned. His game with Yoshida was so carefully crafted, such an intimate construct, all the passion he couldn't verbalize distilled into those handfuls of stones. Each placement was a little burst of electricity. It was all supposed to come together to form a manifesto written of utter desire, drawn up with the hottest of intentions behind it. Yes, definitely, Akira was thinking about knocking Shindou down. Shindou was supposed to see this game, read it, and know. When he didn't, Akira was left feeling honestly, honestly heartbroken, the crush of it as intense two weeks later as it was when it first cracked him. God, it pissed him off.
Months later, Shindou is saying he read the whole thing after all. Months later, Shindou is saying he reacted in exactly the way Akira imagined during the nights he pushed his face hard into his pillow.
Up from underneath the collar of his white juban, Akira is strawberry red. His lips are pressed together, tight, kind of painful for it. He's holding his breath. In realizing that his fingers are still caught up in Shindou's hair, Akira wonders what to do with that, now. He tries swallowing, but that feels strange, and so he lets out his breath too quickly, hard and heavy, his voice once more unable to stay quelled in his throat. Shindou's eyes are jewels, and Akira has never wanted more to bury himself in treasure. Akira had wasted so much time being absolutely glacial with fury (with hurt), all because stupid, stupid, stupid Shindou wouldn't just tell him that he...
Akira wets his bottom lip with his tongue.]
Did you jerk off to the second one I gave you, too?
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Just the name Yoshida 9-dan brings Akira's hand to still, deep in Shindou's hair though it is. He remembers that summer. He was angry for what felt like much of that summer, his head and his bones feeling colder then than even the weather right now. Here, he isn't looking angry. He is frowning, he has lost the sensitivity and sweetness at his lips, but he isn't angry. Forlorn, more like. Disappointed, like he'd put all his hope in something only to see it thoroughly drowned. His game with Yoshida was so carefully crafted, such an intimate construct, all the passion he couldn't verbalize distilled into those handfuls of stones. Each placement was a little burst of electricity. It was all supposed to come together to form a manifesto written of utter desire, drawn up with the hottest of intentions behind it. Yes, definitely, Akira was thinking about knocking Shindou down. Shindou was supposed to see this game, read it, and know. When he didn't, Akira was left feeling honestly, honestly heartbroken, the crush of it as intense two weeks later as it was when it first cracked him. God, it pissed him off.
Months later, Shindou is saying he read the whole thing after all. Months later, Shindou is saying he reacted in exactly the way Akira imagined during the nights he pushed his face hard into his pillow.
Up from underneath the collar of his white juban, Akira is strawberry red. His lips are pressed together, tight, kind of painful for it. He's holding his breath. In realizing that his fingers are still caught up in Shindou's hair, Akira wonders what to do with that, now. He tries swallowing, but that feels strange, and so he lets out his breath too quickly, hard and heavy, his voice once more unable to stay quelled in his throat. Shindou's eyes are jewels, and Akira has never wanted more to bury himself in treasure. Akira had wasted so much time being absolutely glacial with fury (with hurt), all because stupid, stupid, stupid Shindou wouldn't just tell him that he...
Akira wets his bottom lip with his tongue.]
Did you jerk off to the second one I gave you, too?