Hikaru No Go Fan Fiction ❯ Juxtaposition ❯ Shifting ( Chapter 3 )

Title: Shifting

Author: hostilecrayon

Pairing: Akihika

Rating: NC-17

Prompt: Shove

Warnings: Smut. Angst. Angsty smut.

 

I have been planning a sequel to the companion pieces Melting and Losing Faith for a long time. I think it's only right that the sequel come in the form of yet another Porn Battle entry, as that was the one and only inspiration for the first two pieces. So this is my attempt at writing a piece that can both stand alone and tie up the very messy loose ends in the first two pieces. …Which of course led me to have to write a fourth piece to tie it up - how very like me.

 

Some people I'd like to mention - Gem Chibati for being the inspiration behind the name for the collective works in this series - Juxtaposition. Everyone who asked for a sequel - I can't remember everyone, but Tininess, Kelkatan (my ever faithful sis/reader/reviewer/soundboard/beta!), ariadnechan and lacygrey mentioned it in my LJ comments, so kudos for finally getting what you asked for! Took me long enough, heh. And lastly, oxoniensis for creating and continuing to host the Porn Battle, without which this series - and tons of awesome fandom works - would not exist. I applaud you.

 

 

Shifting

 

Their nocturnal love affair, if one could call it that, has become a much more frequent thing than Hikaru is willing to admit, if in fact he were admitting anything to anyone at all. Being a thing of silence - not only to friends, but amongst themselves as well - the only person he isn't admitting it to is himself. Instead, he's noticing how hungry Akira's lips have become, devouring him with a ferocity that he is used to by now. He's also noticing how Akira's fingers are questing over his body in a way he is not quite as used to.

 

Some people wouldn't pick up on such small signals, but this is Hikaru, and when it comes Akira, he misses nothing. It is no surprise that between being slammed against a wall, stripped, and his penis engulfed by Akira's warm mouth, he can feel the tenderness in the hands roaming his body; a slight hesitation here, a gentle caress there. It is enough to push Hikaru over an edge that has nothing to do with the talented tongue massaging his cock.

 

But as with every other time he's appeared on Akira's doorstep this late at night, there is no room for words. When Akira has had his fill of Hikaru's length in his mouth, Hikaru lets him throw him on the bed and take him in the way that no other man has.

 

It's not just his imagination that turns their frantic sex into something more. He just isn't sure what that something more is.

 

Everything feels different to him. The caresses are curious, but it's the gentle thrust of Akira's hard cock into his body that gives him pause. His raven-haired rival fixes him with a piercing stare, and he reminds himself to move. Akira is suddenly kissing him, and it's all lips and tongue and teeth. He tastes himself, he tastes Akira, and it makes him tingle down to his very toes. They've kissed before, but something about this kiss held an intimacy that their encounters had been lacking.

 

Hikaru reminds himself not to read too much into it.

 

When he comes, he screams as he always does, but there's something more to it this time. “Akira, I…”

 

He stops, his eyes wide. Akira freezes. This is not in the rules; the rules that only Akira understands. It is only one extra syllable, and yet it holds so much more.

 

A moment passes in silence. Another. Then time starts moving again as Akira chooses to ignore it.

 

 

When Akira collapses against Hikaru, their skin slick with sweat, Hikaru holds Akira like he does every time. It is, after all, the biggest reason he is with Akira at this ungodly hour of the morning. What he doesn't do is take Akira's cue that the brief allotment of afterglow is up. The subtle yet familiar shifting goes unheeded. If anything, Hikaru clings tighter to Akira.

 

Akira tries again, nearly bucking Hikaru away from him. Still, it heeds no results.

 

“Akira…” Hikaru breathes, not knowing what to say, but no longer able to hold his tongue as he has so many nights before.

 

“Shindou,” Akira growls, and Hikaru feels the use of his family name like a kick to the stomach.

 

More long moments of silence pass as Hikaru tries to catch his breath, to look up, damn it, because tears are not the answer. When Akira shoves him forcefully from his bed, he falls to the floor, thinking that he doesn't know the answer.

 

He doesn't know what he's doing when he gets up, feeling exposed in ways he never has before, and gathers his clothes to his chest. He clutches them there before slowly dressing, all the while feeling Akira's eyes locked on him.

 

When he reaches the door, he does not look back, merely standing in front of it and staring resolutely at the silver knob. It takes a lot of courage, but he thinks if Akira can shove, so can he.

 

“I want you,” he begins slowly, and Akira's sharp intake of breath does not go unnoticed in his small pause, “but not like this.”

 

He does not give Akira a chance to respond as he all but bolts from the room.