[There should, perhaps, be some level of shame present here, when Akira listens to all Hikaru's pledging, when Akira is promised so much and still wants more than that. But even in knowing that shame has its place here, Akira can only think of what other demands he should make. This is avarice at its peak: he wants every inch Hikaru has to offer, every avenue of heat, and more than anything, above all and every, Akira wants Hikaru to revel in giving it to him. It isn't a desire for total domination or even, on its own, for self-serving sexual gratification, at least not in a typical sense. When Akira writhes against whatever part of Hikaru he can reach, and when he fires off this demand and that instruction with breathless, red-mouthed abandon, he does it as a bid for fulfillment. I already gave you everything, he's saying, all of it, that long ago, that much—he cannot bear to leave Hikaru empty-handed, not ever (not ever again). Not when he's got nothing of his own left for himself. There is no way for a thing to outclass the relief Akira feels when Hikaru wants him. It's an emotional release like no other, by itself equatable to orgasm. Sex is the physical conclusion of the reprieve Hikaru's desire offers to Akira.

Plus, Hikaru's proficiency in wracking Akira's entire body with just his mouth can't be undervalued. Yes, it sounds good, if Akira's own sounds don't make that clear enough: he's groaning into a whine, then whining into a sigh.] Damn it, [he says, at some point, and repeats it at least another time, in the midst of Hikaru bullying him down onto the floor. That, maybe that, is the best feeling. Always, Akira resists Hikaru only in the way a proud and dizzying cliff resists the push of the sea. He wants to be worn down; he wants to be the beach, gone much softer, awash in Hikaru's tide. He fights back because he loves the feel of Hikaru fighting back in turn. By the time they're kissing again, Akira is finer like the inevitable sand, ah, ah, with every breath, unable to sound angry. His vocal exhales are razed down into delight, now that Hikaru has (earnestly endeavored, put forth the effort, genuinely wanted to) overcome him.

So he's more pliant, when Hikaru is kissing against him, all these places by now well-traveled and beloved by the tradition of touch. Hikaru knows every spot Akira best enjoys, and—more thrilling—he knows what he enjoys about Akira's body, too. Akira had never considered the merits of feeling sexy until Hikaru was the one who found him so. Now he relishes the line of his own waist, when Hikaru's hands slide against it. He proudly offers the secret peak of his hip bone, beneath all his overheated skin, made accessible only by Hikaru, only to Hikaru, only when Hikaru wishes to find it with his mouth or his agile fingers. And when Hikaru's mouth sinks down onto him for real, Akira cries out, and it feels good to know that Hikaru will like the way it sounds.

Hikaru is allowed to win. Tomorrow, he has full permission. It's not that he needs permission to do it, and it's not that Akira will ever be kept from losing a match simply because he doesn't want to lose; this is just a part of himself that Akira is giving, again, as ever, one shred of himself left that he wants to pour down Hikaru's throat. Tonight, Touya Honinbou is on his back, twisting his hips away from the floor, undone by the expertise of Hikaru's tongue in all its soft strength. Tonight...] Tomorrow, [he gasps, then whines back down into a groan, and grabs at Hikaru's hair. Pause, pause. He wants Hikaru to swallow these words before he swallows Akira's climax. Akira is still gasping a bit.] When you wake up, I want you to think about who you slept with tonight. I want you to think about what it felt like to fuck the winner of the sixty-second Honinbou title. [This is the drag of thick sap down tree bark, for amber, for filling every space.] You remember it, and what it was like, because you're the only person who can possibly know, and I want you to be thinking about it, tomorrow, [tomorrow, when you take the title from me. Akira is too busy either blessing or cursing God to say the rest of that, but maybe the rapt hum slipping from his throat does it for him. They've been fucking all throughout the year, of course, so Shindou Hikaru sleeping with Touya Honinbou shouldn't be a revelation on any level. But if Hikaru wins tomorrow, (for Akira is full enough of pride and intent to retain his grasp on if,) this is the last time Hikaru will be going down on the sitting Honinbou title holder. For another year, anyway.

Akira thumbs at one of Hikaru's cheeks, his hand less than steady.]

Tell me how to make it memorable for you. I'm not going to let you get out of this with even a second overlooked.

[But that's big talk from someone whose thighs are straining even now.]