[Hikaru will never understand how Akira can hold himself still, in basically the same position, traditional seiza, for multiple hours on end... while also being this frenzied, writhing creature that's touching him all over. It's like wrestling with something from the deepest of the deep sea, tentacles lashing everywhere, just pressing and pushing everywhere, demanding more of an entanglement. These are the needy, needful arms Hikaru wants to spend the rest of his life wrapped up in. Honestly, the two of them don't need a board to play on when they can be like this and when they can gasp out the moves to each other. Some of their best games have depended on having the wild contours they're in now, their primal struggles to get as close as possible. Hikaru snaps at least one button off of Akira's fancy dress shirt in his haste to get it opened up and off of him entirely. The humidity is making the fabric cling to Akira's skin, and it's just an ordeal, with Akira doing all that he's doing to distract him.]
Yeah, [says Hikaru, and his voice is rough when he's aroused, like a bed of parti-colored coral:] I did think about fucking you right there. I couldn't stop thinking about it. [He's impertinent, unapologetic, not about to back down in this lifetime or the next.] There's no place I'd rather fuck you than on the floor of that room. [Even the referee looked a little hot under the collar as the game progressed. Hikaru wouldn't be surprised if that time keeper's touching herself right now at the memory. As much as they have their own little world together, there's still enough of its brilliance visible to everyone else. The onlookers get glimpses of the nearest thing to nirvana, to what's unspoiled and undaunted and unashamed; something so pure that it can't be strained any brighter.
Akira twists and turns around, offering more of himself, intentionally or not, and Hikaru only gives him enough space to speak before he's forcing their mouths together. There are times when he can be careful, tender, attentive--wanting to draw it out, wanting to convince Akira of this one thing--but now is not one of those times. It's another desperate battle for them, no less fraught and consequential than Hikaru's 12-7 or Akira's answering 13-9. For better or worse, it gets to be impossible to contain himself when he's around Akira, his hysteria bubbling up from somewhere below. He had to bite down on his fan more than once to stop himself from screaming with desire.
Even when he slows down to respond, it's like they're still kissing; their mouths are still very close together; he can taste Akira's mouth with every odd syllable.] If it had been earlier, mm... an earlier game, I would have been more willing to... to forfeit, but also... [Akira's belt. That's where his twining fingers migrate to next.] I didn't want anyone else to see you just then. Not like that. It's bad enough they get to watch us play, when they have half a hope of seeing you, as I do, on the board, and they can want you like I want you... [Akira doesn't need to be told that Hikaru gets jealous easily. The belt is proving to be too difficult, by the way, so Hikaru simply shoves his hand downward, all at once, to rediscover Akira's groin. He doesn't need fine motor control to seize him through his clothes.] If they could see you like this, it would just be unforgivable. Just unforgivable. You should see yourself right now.
[Hikaru doesn't have a favorite place to kiss or anything consistent like that. He couldn't possibly decide if he prefers the tip of Akira's ear, or that one spot around the back of his knee, where Akira is kind of ticklish and weirdly vulnerable for it. Still, he kisses over to Akira's jaw like he couldn't be more fortunate to know him here. And he confides, all hydrothermal heat,] I came into your room because I feel like I'll just die if I'm not with you. So, please, please, don't make me leave, please, Akira...
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Yeah, [says Hikaru, and his voice is rough when he's aroused, like a bed of parti-colored coral:] I did think about fucking you right there. I couldn't stop thinking about it. [He's impertinent, unapologetic, not about to back down in this lifetime or the next.] There's no place I'd rather fuck you than on the floor of that room. [Even the referee looked a little hot under the collar as the game progressed. Hikaru wouldn't be surprised if that time keeper's touching herself right now at the memory. As much as they have their own little world together, there's still enough of its brilliance visible to everyone else. The onlookers get glimpses of the nearest thing to nirvana, to what's unspoiled and undaunted and unashamed; something so pure that it can't be strained any brighter.
Akira twists and turns around, offering more of himself, intentionally or not, and Hikaru only gives him enough space to speak before he's forcing their mouths together. There are times when he can be careful, tender, attentive--wanting to draw it out, wanting to convince Akira of this one thing--but now is not one of those times. It's another desperate battle for them, no less fraught and consequential than Hikaru's 12-7 or Akira's answering 13-9. For better or worse, it gets to be impossible to contain himself when he's around Akira, his hysteria bubbling up from somewhere below. He had to bite down on his fan more than once to stop himself from screaming with desire.
Even when he slows down to respond, it's like they're still kissing; their mouths are still very close together; he can taste Akira's mouth with every odd syllable.] If it had been earlier, mm... an earlier game, I would have been more willing to... to forfeit, but also... [Akira's belt. That's where his twining fingers migrate to next.] I didn't want anyone else to see you just then. Not like that. It's bad enough they get to watch us play, when they have half a hope of seeing you, as I do, on the board, and they can want you like I want you... [Akira doesn't need to be told that Hikaru gets jealous easily. The belt is proving to be too difficult, by the way, so Hikaru simply shoves his hand downward, all at once, to rediscover Akira's groin. He doesn't need fine motor control to seize him through his clothes.] If they could see you like this, it would just be unforgivable. Just unforgivable. You should see yourself right now.
[Hikaru doesn't have a favorite place to kiss or anything consistent like that. He couldn't possibly decide if he prefers the tip of Akira's ear, or that one spot around the back of his knee, where Akira is kind of ticklish and weirdly vulnerable for it. Still, he kisses over to Akira's jaw like he couldn't be more fortunate to know him here. And he confides, all hydrothermal heat,] I came into your room because I feel like I'll just die if I'm not with you. So, please, please, don't make me leave, please, Akira...