[With Akira right on top of him, Hikaru has to hold his breath. He has to close his eyes, first, and then he has to hold his breath, and he focuses on something other than the bold, unmistakable motion of a body against his. It's the sort of thing he wants to accuse Akira of doing on purpose, even though he knows the accusation wouldn't get him anywhere good. He exhales again as soon as Akira has moved to the edge of the bed, where Akira lingers over him, passing judgment. Such is the way of things.] Yeah, maybe, [Hikaru replies, now looking up at Akira. He doesn't want to bask in the harsh yet fond attention, but that might be what he's doing when he stretches both of his arms above his head. (Of course, he regrets it moments later, when his shoulders and his lower back crackle-crack in protest.)] But it's convenient, you know? If it's convenient, then I don't have to worry about it... [Honestly, in all honesty, Akira is right about his shitty eating habits, and Hikaru is feeling more and more self-conscious about that. He's a lot softer all over than he was when he still played soccer back in middle school--that's why he's looking at Akira, the metabolic powerhouse, with naked envy. He's starting to get old, actually old, the luster of teenage immortality having finally worn off. It won't be long before he's getting grey hairs and carpal tunnel and god knows what else. It won't be long before Akira realizes he's hitching his rising star to a fossil...
He waves Akira off lazily, and then spends another few minutes just lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he got himself into this mess. Then he groans his way out of bed, stumbling off to one side, to go splash water on his face in the bathroom. By the time he turns up in the kitchen, he's wearing his glasses again--which he hates--he absolutely hates these things--they do so much to make him look even older than he is. Even stylish frames can't change the reality of the aging process, so he's partial to contacts when he's out and about in public. Not too many people have seen him in his glasses, and Akira is one of the lucky few. Hikaru shuffles over to the pantry to get the tea, and the rice, and...
There's a low grumble at Akira's additional orders (this kid is so like his father sometimes, it's kind of ridiculous), but he's digging out the pan, and the carton of eggs, too. His gaze wanders to all the stuff Akira's pulled out in preparation, before he looks at Akira himself, with his tense hands, his unyielding posture. He can't help but think the apron looks good on Akira. It looks really good. It accentuates just how thin he is, clinging to his thighs, clinging everywhere.]
--Uh.
[It's taken him this long to realize Akira asked him a question. He hastily fumbles with the tea kettle, then sets it in the sink and turns on the faucet.]
Wine? Yeah, I have some wine, but... [Most professional Go players have plenty of booze on hand to console them after a long, stressful day in front of the board. Hikaru's got white wine, and red wine, and it's just another unhealthy habit he's been unwilling to quit. Thinking on this, he peers at Akira out of the corner of his eye.] You're going to cook with it? [he asks, then, because he isn't so sure he'd let Akira have it for any other reason. The last time he let Akira drink from a bottle of full-bodied red wine, they ended up sprawled on the couch together, with Akira straddling his thighs and murmuring the craziest fucking moves in his ear. They bickered some over the sequences, and they laughed a lot at nothing in particular. And he doesn't know that Akira ever stopped touching him, not even for a single second. It was good.
It was too good.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, while moving the filled kettle to the stove with the other.]
no subject
He waves Akira off lazily, and then spends another few minutes just lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he got himself into this mess. Then he groans his way out of bed, stumbling off to one side, to go splash water on his face in the bathroom. By the time he turns up in the kitchen, he's wearing his glasses again--which he hates--he absolutely hates these things--they do so much to make him look even older than he is. Even stylish frames can't change the reality of the aging process, so he's partial to contacts when he's out and about in public. Not too many people have seen him in his glasses, and Akira is one of the lucky few. Hikaru shuffles over to the pantry to get the tea, and the rice, and...
There's a low grumble at Akira's additional orders (this kid is so like his father sometimes, it's kind of ridiculous), but he's digging out the pan, and the carton of eggs, too. His gaze wanders to all the stuff Akira's pulled out in preparation, before he looks at Akira himself, with his tense hands, his unyielding posture. He can't help but think the apron looks good on Akira. It looks really good. It accentuates just how thin he is, clinging to his thighs, clinging everywhere.]
--Uh.
[It's taken him this long to realize Akira asked him a question. He hastily fumbles with the tea kettle, then sets it in the sink and turns on the faucet.]
Wine? Yeah, I have some wine, but... [Most professional Go players have plenty of booze on hand to console them after a long, stressful day in front of the board. Hikaru's got white wine, and red wine, and it's just another unhealthy habit he's been unwilling to quit. Thinking on this, he peers at Akira out of the corner of his eye.] You're going to cook with it? [he asks, then, because he isn't so sure he'd let Akira have it for any other reason. The last time he let Akira drink from a bottle of full-bodied red wine, they ended up sprawled on the couch together, with Akira straddling his thighs and murmuring the craziest fucking moves in his ear. They bickered some over the sequences, and they laughed a lot at nothing in particular. And he doesn't know that Akira ever stopped touching him, not even for a single second. It was good.
It was too good.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, while moving the filled kettle to the stove with the other.]
The cabinet to your left. In there.