Hikaru No Go Fan Fiction ❯ The Extent of Denial ❯ Territory ( Chapter 21 )

A/N: You guys are wonderful! Thank you for all of the encouragement and positive feedback. It only makes me write more. ^_- Don't mind it if you occasionally see an earlier chapter come back up as being `new' - I just have a tendency to go back and make minor edits. Sorry about that! Ok, on to the fic.

 

~This chapter is dedicated to Hakuza.

Thank you for making me laugh, and for sharing.~

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hikaru shifted where he lay on his bed, pressing his headphones more firmly into his ears. Though he'd been trying to desperately lose his mind and his consciousness in Gackt for the last hour or so, he couldn't stop thinking about the hours he'd spent with Akira.

 

The weirdness was back, and stronger than ever. It was harder than anything to hold himself back from touching Akira, from kissing him, from thinking of how things could be, if only the other boy would feel it. Hikaru thought that he had restrained himself quite admirably, all things considered.

 

His hands clenched in his pillow, trying to crush it. Akira was just playing. Playing with him, as usual. He shouldn't pay it any mind. But those eyes. Those eyes had made him feel as though the entire world had disappeared, as if he were falling. When Akira looked at him like that, nothing else mattered.

 

But then the doubt had broken through his stupor, his enchantment, giving him the strength to taunt Akira and break away. `Strength'. Something he felt that he had precious little of.

 

He couldn't stand this for much longer. He needed to find someone else to focus on, and quickly. Before he did something that both he and Akira would regret, something that would destroy their friendship.

 

He'd even had a dream that Akira had kissed him last night, that his rival had been looking at him with eyes that held only his reflection. Such a realistic dream. He was losing it.

 

And what was with the camera incident? Why was Akira taking random pictures of him? What was the other pro even going to do with pictures of Hikaru?

 

Akira had invited him to stay the night, but he'd had to decline. That strange look was still lurking in those aqua eyes, and he knew that he'd only be in for more torture if he agreed to stay any longer. He had been satisfied just finishing the day by going out to have an early dinner with Akira.

 

They'd talked about the recent games they'd read about, and promised to play Go together next time, especially since Akira no longer felt welcome at his father's salon. They'd both been slacking lately.

 

If this was what being a teenager was like, he didn't want it. It was full of drama and pain, and he couldn't seem to rein in his feelings anymore. Nothing was under his control, and things were so complicated. All he knew was that he always wanted Akira in his life. That must never change. Akira must never leave him behind.

 

But they couldn't go on like this. It was trying his self-control, and maybe his sanity. Just a little. He felt just a little…insane when he was around Akira. A little unbalanced, as if something was about to shatter into pieces when the other boy touched him.

 

What was that about? The things he and Isumi had talked about kept vaguely troubling him, slipping into his thoughts when he was alone like this. In particular… “So you don't love him?” What was love? Did he…? “Suffice to say, it is possible for boys to fall in love with boys.”

 

`I want to be close to Akira,' he'd said to Isumi. It was an understatement. He wanted to breathe Akira. He needed to breathe Akira. Without his best friend, he would disappear. He would…freeze like a photograph, all of the life and heart shaken out of him.

 

Hikaru tore his headphones off and half-heartedly flung them across the bed, pushing his cd player away in irritation. There was nothing that he could do. Nothing. Akira didn't feel that way, didn't want him, didn't love-like-whatever him, so he just had to forget about it.

 

“Forget about it,” he whispered harshly to himself, nails biting into his palms as his fists clenched.

 

His cell phone rang, startling him. He thought about ignoring it, but decided to answer anyway. It was better than just lying in the dark and angsting. He leaned over and grabbed it off of his desk, glancing at the screen.

 

Amari. Dear god, the last thing he needed. Hikaru hit the `answer' button. “What?” he barked at her.

 

“Hikaru…you never called me back! I've been trying to reach you, didn't you get my call yesterday?” She sounded rather put out.

 

Not that he cared. “No, I was busy. I don't even really have time for a relationship, Amari. Isn't this boring for you? I don't particularly care to have one, either.”

 

She breathed into the phone for a minute, then reacted exactly the way he'd expected her to. “Don't forget that you need to be nice to me, Hikaru. I could tell everyone—“

 

“Yeah, what-the-fuck-ever. You go ahead. Akira isn't gay, and he never will be. I, on the other hand, have had a boyfriend for some time now. So you just go ahead and tell the whole fucking world, Amari, because the only person it will hurt is me. And you know what? I…don't…care. Do you hear me? I don't fucking care! Not to mention you'd be making yourself look bad, as well, but that's totally your business.”

 

“You're lying! You can't have a boyfriend! Where is he, if that's the case? He can't be okay with the fact that you're dating a girl!” Her voice was tremulous and sharp with distress.

 

“You do realize that a straight guy would be a lot easier for you to control, right? You can only trap me for so long, and it can't be raising your self-esteem when you have to try so hard for such a small return, can it?” His smile flashed like the blade of a knife in the darkness. He didn't care what he destroyed when he was feeling like this.

 

“I thought you were a nice boy,” Amari whispered, sounding close to tears.

 

Hikaru laughed. “Well, I thought that you were a nice girl, so I guess we're even, huh? You're a manipulative bitch, and I hate you. I hate you. It makes me sick to even see your name, to hear your voice! If I didn't need the hand that you forced to touch you that time, I'd pour acid on it to cleanse it. If I ever see you or hear from you again, and if you try to ruin my life or be involved in it at all, I will show you just what I can do to make you miserable! I have nothing, so there's nothing for you to take away from me! So leave me the fuck alone!”

 

He couldn't believe his own cruelty. But the pain of having nothing was so great - and he might as well take it out on her. It felt wonderful to let out all of the anger and pain he'd kept bottled up, all of the frustration.

 

Nothing.

 

Hikaru snapped his phone closed on the sound of Amari's sobs and let it fall to the floor, laughing a little hysterically. “See?” he breathed to the darkness. “See what you get for bothering me when I'm like this, for threatening Akira? I'm not myself anymore…you stupid girl.” He laughed into his pillow until his stomach began to hurt, then fell silent.

 

A light knock sounded against his door. “Hikaru? Dinner is ready.”

 

“Already ate,” he muttered.

 

“Hikaru?” his mother called again.

 

“I already ate!” he yelled, flinging a nearby shoe to thud against the door.

 

“Hikaru! That attitude will not be tolerated! I won't put up with it.”

 

“Fine!” he shot back quietly, not bothering to raise his voice. He didn't care. He just wanted to be left alone.

 

Hikaru stared with vacant eyes at his cell phone where it lay on the floor. “And maybe I love him and maybe I don't, but no one is allowed to hurt…my Akira.” He started laughing again when he realized what he'd said. “My Akira! That's perfect. I am such a fucking moron!”

 

He flopped onto his back and continued laughing. “Got…to stop…” he gasped to himself, desperately needing to breathe.

 

The phone rang yet again, sparing him. “Dammit, who is it now?” He rolled over and hung off of the bed, straining to reach it. He was surprised to see that it was actually Waya calling him.

 

He answered immediately. “Dude! Where have you been? Why haven't you called me back before now?”

 

“I…I'm sorry, Hikaru, I can't tell you why, but I wanted to say that I'm sorry. Everything should be okay now. I was wondering…do you want to hang out next weekend? All of us…Isumi, you and I and even Touya.” Waya's tone was chagrined and anxious.

 

“Yeah, yeah sure. That'd be great. Have you checked with Isumi?” Hikaru tried not to feel too excited at the thought of being able to hang out with all of his favorite people in a few days. But it had been way too long, and he needed something familiar. Something that they had always done before. He needed something to hold onto, because everything else was disintegrating around him.

 

“Actually, he's right here.” Waya sounded slightly embarrassed. Hikaru heard someone else's muffled voice, and then Waya exclaimed, “Ow, Isumi, you know that's not true!”

 

“What's not true?” Hikaru asked immediately, curious.

 

“We…Isumi and I…well, he said I seemed embarrassed to be around him or something.”

 

He frowned up at his ceiling in perplexity, trying to decipher the meaning behind Waya's words. “Why would you be? You guys have been friends for forever.”

 

“Well, yes…and…” Waya paused, and Hikaru could almost hear the blush.

 

“And?” he prompted impatiently, clutching his cell phone closer. Was this what he thought it was?

 

“Well, we're…we're…you know, together now.”

 

Hikaru smiled, but a pang of despair and heartbreak shot straight through his body, seemingly all the way to his toes and even down through the earth somewhere beneath him. “That's…that's great,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as his hands began to shake.

 

“Hikaru?” Waya prodded quietly, sounding concerned.

 

“Y-yeah?”

 

“You don't sound as though you think it's all that great.” Waya's tone was suspicious and guarded.

 

“Oh, god, Waya - it's not that. It's nothing to do with the two of you. It's just…” Hikaru bit his lip hard, covering his eyes with one hand. Why was this bothering him so much? He had hoped to hear something like this, but somehow it just hurt to know that someone else's hope and feelings had come to fruition, had made it into a reality that didn't hurt.

 

“Is it about…him?” Waya asked softly.

 

“Geez, Waya, why are you being so sensitive all of a sudden? This is worse than when you're a total jerk. I can deal with you when you're being a little punk, but this kindness stuff is disturbing.” He tried to force a joking tone, though his lips were trembling now, too. He tried not to blink, hoping to keep his tears from overflowing.

 

“It is Touya,” Waya growled. “What'd the little fucker do to you now, Hikaru? Why can't you just find someone better? There's got to be someone else.”

 

“Please…Waya…don't say things like that. It's not his fault. I should never have crossed the line of friendship with him. It's my fault. I'm the one with these fucked up feelings.”

 

“That's crap Hikaru, and you know it! There's nothing wrong with you. He's a little prick, and even if you are a little daft sometimes, you're just fine how you are, okay? You're just fine. It's not your fault. If he'd use his supposedly genius-level mind, he'd realize how lucky he is that you give two fucks about him.” Waya's voice was strong, fierce and protective as if he were defending Hikaru's honor.

 

Hikaru laughed, and it forced the tears to overflow after all. They ran down his cheeks to be soaked into his pillow, and still he laughed.

 

“Hikaru!” Waya broke in frantically. “Stop laughing like that, you're freaking me out! Are you okay?”

 

“Nev…never…better!” he gasped out, making a valiant effort to smother his laughter. The urge kept bubbling up in his throat, making it nearly impossible to regain control of himself.

 

“We're coming over,” Waya said firmly.

 

“NO! Nonono…I don't want anyone around me when I'm like this.” He could sober up enough to express that much.

 

“Shit, Hikaru! How am I supposed to listen to what you say you want when you're like this? How do I know you aren't one of those people that always seem fine, and then…” Waya trailed off, sounding disturbed.

 

“Hm? Don't worry, Waya, I was hardly able to stand getting a tattoo, right?” He tried to sound rational, but then couldn't help murmuring, “Besides, it's not as if anyone would care…”

 

“They would, too!” Waya snapped. “I would care, and Isumi would care, and your family would, and if Touya didn't care, I'd kill his ass.”

 

Hikaru giggled a little, amused at Waya despite himself. “I swear, Waya, I'm not one of those people. I just get a little weird sometimes…when Akira gets weird. He…he confuses me. You know? I don't know what to do.” He could tell that Waya was not reassured by the quality and length of the silence that answered him.

 

“Hmph.”

 

“I'm going to find someone soon so that I can stop focusing on Akira…things will be easier, then.”

 

“Do you love him?” Waya whispered, as if they were discussing national secrets.

 

“I don't know,” Hikaru whispered back, trying to wipe his tears away. It was difficult when they just kept flowing…possibly from the hole in the bottom of his heart.

 

“I think maybe you do,” Waya said carefully.

 

“What does it matter?” he returned bitterly. “If it doesn't matter to Akira, then it's pointless. Thanks for caring, Waya, you're a real friend. Don't be sensitive too often, because it's scary, and don't you dare come over here. Congrats on your relationship with Isumi, and I'll see you next weekend!” He hung up quickly, not wanting to hear one more word from Waya about love or what he thought Hikaru should do about it.

 

And he definitely didn't want to think about Waya and Isumi's happiness right now. He hurt too much. And he felt guilty for being evil to Amari, even if she deserved it. “I am a wretched person,” he murmured, turning his face into his pillow again.

 

He couldn't help but wonder what Akira was doing in his new apartment on his first night…all alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Akira sat on the floor, leaning against the wall in his living room. The apartment was absolutely silent but for whatever small movements he made, which weren't many. He held the pictures that he had taken of Hikaru earlier in the day in loose fingers, analyzing them. As soon as the other boy had left, he had set up his computer and used his photo paper to render tangible representations of them. Now he was unable to stop analyzing them.

 

Analyzing his reactions to them. No matter how many times he glanced at the first photo he'd taken, it still had the same disturbing effect on him. His heart rate increased dramatically, his breathing hitched and escalated, and all of the blood left his brain to gather somewhere else. It was humiliating, to say the least. He still…wanted. It wasn't a freak occurrence. He was able to reproduce the initial results quite predictably.

 

The second picture revealed a tantalizing and touching vulnerability in the green eyes that looked up at him, and Hikaru's body language was open and uncertain. `Do you still want me?' he thought at the image of the other boy, a fine tremor beginning in his fingers. Akira scowled, trying to hold the picture with motionless fingers, but his body ignored his commands utterly.

 

It could have been…different. Hikaru didn't have to leave. Wouldn't have left if he hadn't been the way he always was with the bleach-banged boy. Cowardly. In Go he was aggressive and courageous, but he was always afraid of the repercussions in life, so afraid of making a mistake that he never did anything at all. So many things had passed him by because he refused to move. Nothing else had ever truly mattered to him before, so it hadn't particularly disturbed him to lose all of those chances, all of those different paths. But it would mean something to him if he lost this chance, this path.

 

The tremor in his hands increased, growing more noticeable. Akira laid his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. It didn't really matter, as he could see both images of Hikaru perfectly behind his eyelids, as well as dozens of others that he had never meant to commit to memory.

 

It seemed that his friend would not be trying to touch him anymore.

 

Hikaru was giving up on him. He could feel it. Everything he did now was dismissed as one more of `Akira's stupid little baiting games', and he couldn't blame his rival for being distrustful of his motives and feelings. He couldn't even admit to having them.

 

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and drew his cell phone out. There were no calls. Calmly, he accessed his saved messages and put the phone up to his ear. Without moving, Akira listened once more to the twelve messages that Hikaru had left him.

 

He has listened to them perhaps a dozen times since that day, maybe more. He wasn't exactly keeping count.

 

I want to hear your voice shake like that again…but not in pain. I've caused you too much pain already.

 

Akira wanted Hikaru to tell him clearly again how he felt, wanted the other boy to be open and vulnerable with him. But he hadn't exactly inspired confidence lately.

 

He thought fondly back to the first time they had kissed, when he'd had a glimpse of the secrets behind those shining green eyes. Hikaru liked him. He just hadn't known what he was looking at back then. It had only been a few weeks since then, perhaps a month or so, but it seemed like years had gone by.

 

He liked Hikaru. He didn't want to. Had tried to convince himself that he didn't. But today had convinced him that he wasn't fooling himself, that he was only confusing everyone else. But he didn't know where to go from here. Or even how to go about moving on. Did he want a relationship? Did he want to be closer? Should he try? Should he not try? Should he wait for Hikaru to do something, even if the other boy had said he wouldn't?

 

Would Hikaru laugh in his face if he said now, `I like you'? Even he had to admit that his rival should be slightly irritated with him on that count. He had certainly dragged his feet a great deal, confused matters and toyed with the other boy's emotions. All in the name of protecting himself. Hadn't he already decided that his skin was not more precious than Hikaru's? That he wanted to protect his friend, keep him from crying? But now he was the one that was making Hikaru cry.

 

What did Hikaru want now? They'd never actually discussed anything in regard to the strangeness between them. Did the bleach-banged boy only want kisses? Someone to go out with? Someone to experiment with him? Why did any of that need to be with Akira, if that was the case?

 

But what if that wasn't the case?

 

Akira pressed his fingers to his lips, thoughtful. He didn't mind going out with Hikaru. Definitely didn't mind kissing him, for the most part. (Aside from being frightened the entire time.) As for experimenting…perhaps he wouldn't even mind that, if it was very slow. And very tame. He still didn't want the sex. He didn't.

 

The image of Hikaru sprawled across his bedroom floor came back to him. At least…he didn't want things done to him. But maybe…perhaps…he could do something to Hikaru? A little bit of something. Just to hear those noises again…more breathy moans like he'd heard last night when he had breathed into his friend's ear.

 

Akira opened his eyes, frowning at his reflection in the blank darkness of the television screen. In some ways, this was like their Go. If Hikaru made a play, then he needed to respond one way or another, whether it be by blocking the other boy…or by capturing his territory.

 

Capturing all of his territory… Akira sighed, glancing down at the first picture again. What tactic…to surround the other boy so that he couldn't fight? He'd made too many mistakes at the beginning of their game and hadn't been paying attention. Now he needed a winning strategy. If he intended to conquer his opponent.

 

He was only afraid that he wouldn't know what to do with the territory that he did capture. What if he ended up with all of Hikaru - and didn't want him? It would destroy the bleach-banged boy. What if this wasn't truly what he wanted? What if it was only the fact that it was a challenge to him, and that it was in his nature to never turn away a challenge? Would it only be to prove that he could recover at this point in the game, to prove that he could capture Hikaru?

 

What if…?

 

Akira gently stroked his fingers over the surface of the real photograph that was lying in his lap, the one that Isumi had given him. He would have to remove his fingerprints later. He didn't want them to mar the photo, to destroy it. It needed to last forever.

 

Forever.

 

What if…?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waya shifted restlessly on Isumi's couch, pounding the arm with a fist. “He really sounded broken up, Isumi! You didn't hear him. I'm worried.”

 

Isumi gave him a concerned look. “What can we do, Waya? He didn't want us to come over. We can't make Touya care about him. Ultimately, we can't fix anything. We can only be his friends.”

 

“That's not enough!” he exclaimed impatiently, a little annoyed with Isumi for being such a…such a rock.

 

“Weren't you the one that didn't talk to him for so long? What if he'd needed you one of those times he'd called?” Isumi was smiling faintly, but there was a slight edge behind the words.

 

“I know, I'm an asshole. It was stupid of me to treat him like that. How many times do I have to say that I know I'm a jerk? I'm going to have a complex soon. I would have felt horrible, okay? I was too busy wallowing in my own problems, my own pain.”

 

Isumi's lips thinned, but the dark-haired boy made no other response to his tirade. “Regardless, we'll see him in a few days, and maybe we can do something for him then. Perhaps we'll be able to distract him for a little while.”

 

“Not with Touya sitting right next to him and making eyes at him, or touching his knee or something. I think he lives to torment Hikaru. He loves getting a reaction out of him, you know?”

 

Isumi sighed. “I don't think it's that simple, Waya. I think that Touya truly does have feelings for Hikaru, even if he doesn't know it, doesn't understand them or doesn't want to acknowledge them. I don't think that Touya is that cruel.”

 

“Hmph,” Waya responded, making a face to show Isumi what he thought of that. “Can't we find someone for him?”

 

“I'm sure that Hikaru will find someone else when he's ready.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Isumi, Hikaru is a romantic sap. He'd probably never `find someone else'. He'll just pine over Touya until he dies.”

 

Isumi arched a brow at him. “Why do you think that?”

 

Waya shot his lover an incredulous look. “Come on, I know you've seen how he is with Touya. We've both been around them enough. He gets this sort of dazed and bewildered look in those big green eyes of his, and his attention span, while always really flaky, suddenly narrows to Touya. Have you ever tried to talk to him when he's focused on Touya? It's like…fucking mission impossible.”

 

The dark-haired boy laughed. “Regardless, Waya…we can't interfere. They're going to have to find their own happy medium, whether that be together or apart…”

 

“Remind me to never ask you for help,” Waya muttered. “You're so impartial that it's scary.”

 

“I would assist you without a request. Always.” Isumi's gaze had softened and was locked with his.

 

How did his friend manage to make eye contact so intimate? He had never felt as though anyone else was holding him when they met his eyes like this. “Uh, thanks. I'll remember that. And I'm here for you, too…” He didn't know how to deal with that kind of sentiment, but it touched him more deeply than he'd ever be able to express.

 

Waya was startled when Isumi's sock-clad foot touched his. “Soo…where is this tattoo that Hikaru says you have?”

 

“That little bastard!” he grumbled. “I didn't want anyone to see it.”

 

“I'm quite surprised that I never found it, considering that I've seen all of you. Needless to say, I had to back-pedal a bit to keep Hikaru from guessing outright.”

 

Waya grinned a little at the thought. “Yeah, he's surprisingly observant sometimes, isn't he?” He sighed, turning to sit with his back to Isumi, and lifted the fringe of his hair.

 

He felt Isumi move close, and fingers brushed over the tattoo, tracing the lines of it. He shivered at the feeling, closing his eyes.

 

“It's lovely,” Isumi murmured softly, lightly kissing his ear.

 

“Isumi, stop that!” Waya cried, squirming as the other boy's arms closed around him.

 

“You're no fun,” the dark-haired boy whispered, lips searing the back of Waya's neck where the tattoo was.

 

It sent waves of hot and cold fire through his body from the point of contact, making him huddle in on himself. “Isumi…” he breathed.

 

“And you are not on top next time…you have abused your privileges.” Isumi's voice was low and dark, and seemed to reverberate in Waya's body, promising the amber-eyed boy that he would have no control.

 

He made a soft noise of agreement, knowing that he was in no position to argue. Isumi pressed him against the arm of the couch, body trapping his, and he shuddered with desire when he realized that his lover was already aroused and wanting him. “Whatever…you want,” he gasped out, fingers digging into the arm of the couch.

 

Isumi bit the junction of his neck and shoulder and he was horrified to hear a squeak escape him. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The dark-haired boy chuckled behind him, arms snaking around his body to slide under his t-shirt and tease the skin of his hips and stomach.

 

“Isumi, why don't we go to the bed—“

 

“No. Here is fine.”

 

Waya knew better than to argue with that tone, and was surprised to find that his shirt was being pulled over his head and tossed to the floor. “Um…are you sure we shouldn't go over to check on Hika—“ He faltered as he watched Isumi's pale hands deftly unbutton his cargo pants and start dragging them down over his hips.

 

“Do you really want to go over there?” Isumi whispered against the side of Waya's neck, one hand slipping down under his boxers to stroke him teasingly.

 

Waya gasped, throwing his head back against Isumi's shoulder. “Ah…maybe…later?” he replied tremulously, feeling the muscles in his legs already beginning to lose strength and quiver in response to his lover's demands.

 

“If you think you can manage that after this,” the other boy growled softly as he completed the process of undressing Waya.

 

He swallowed, closing his eyes. “So, I'm the naked one, and you're fully—“ A slick finger suddenly stroked his entrance, making him choke and open his eyes. When had Isumi managed to prepare…?!

 

“What's the matter?” Isumi murmured into his ear, one hand sliding down his stomach to wrap around him. That hand was slick, too.

 

“Haa…ah…” was sadly the only response he was able to make, even though he had intended on saying something like, `What are you doing?'

 

The finger that was tormenting him chose that moment to slide into him, and he folded over the arm of the couch bonelessly, incapable of remaining up on his knees when Isumi was doing this to him.

 

“What's that?” Isumi asked sweetly. “I can't reach you like that. Lean back.”

 

Waya struggled to comply, raising himself up to lean back against Isumi, who seemed to have no issue with remaining upright and stable. “Nnn….Isu…mi…” he managed to force out, his attempt at speech completely derailed by both hands touching him in concert. He could barely hold onto a single thought like this. Every time he tried to gather himself, the hand that held him stroked him even more sensuously, just as the hand behind him offered yet another finger to distract him. He could hardly bear it.

 

“Don't let me down, Waya,” Isumi whispered, a smile in his voice.

 

He made senseless noises in response, his body feeling so flushed that he had a brief, broken thought fragment about the air conditioner having failed them at a time like this.

 

He felt like a helpless puppet in the dark-haired boy's arms, completely without strength or will of his own. Utterly without control. The thought overwhelmed him. “Cl…close…” Waya choked out.

 

“Is that so?” Isumi said softly, pausing. The hand in front of him released him for a moment before coming back into view with Isumi's t-shirt and flinging it over the arm of the couch.

 

Waya's eyes widened at the implications. “Bed…?”

 

“Ha.”

 

Both hands withdrew from Waya for a moment, and he had an idea of what to expect as he heard Isumi doing something. He tried to brace himself. He really tried.

 

But when Isumi's hand returned to stroke him, and the other boy gently pushed him forward over the arm of the couch, he knew he'd be lost. He was barely able to hang onto the last of his dignity and control as it was, so when the dark-haired boy finally entered him, pressing inside with torturous care, he was panting and nearly in tears. He could only hope that these responses lessened, that Isumi wouldn't always make him this pitiful, spineless creature.

 

“Are you okay?” Isumi asked breathlessly.

 

“Nnn...aahh…nn…” Sure. Sure, he was fine, he just couldn't talk!

 

The other boy began thrusting into him in earnest, making him gasp each time. Waya closed his eyes, cheeks burning. In some way, he couldn't stand that he reacted this way, but in some small corner of his being, he loved the way Isumi made him helpless and took everything away but these feelings that made him want to be whatever his lover needed him to be.

 

“Wider…” Isumi panted.

 

Waya struggled to comply, but it was rather difficult when the dark-haired boy kept doing that to him the entire time. His legs were trembling violently, the only things supporting him being the arm of the couch and Isumi's arms, and the hand attached to one of those arms was completely engaged in shredding his composure even further.

 

Isumi finally just paused and used a knee to spread Waya's legs a little wider, then resumed without saying a word, able to thrust even more deeply into Waya's body with the adjustment in position.

 

Waya cried out, his entire body beginning to shake as if it were going to explode into pieces. “Dam…mit! Is…sss…”

 

“More?” Isumi gasped out, still teasing him even now.

 

Unable to dignify that with a response, he could only moan through clenched teeth and try to keep breathing.

 

“You don't know…how much…how much I…” Isumi broke off, breathing too hard to continue. He began stroking Waya more quickly in time with his thrusts.

 

At this point, Waya's body relinquished all control, unable to stand any more. He tensed and cried out loudly, shuddering mindlessly over the arm of the couch as his ultimate response to Isumi's touch and presence inside of him compressed him and scattered him.

 

Isumi folded over on top of him, crying out in a deep, passionate voice, and Waya thought vaguely that if he hadn't already lost it, hearing that would have done it for him. As aftershocks rocked through his body, he finally regained some slight ability to think.

 

Isumi's movements began to slow and calm. “It was that…tattoo…” he whispered, stroking a hand down Waya's side.

 

“Hmph! Your fault…that we made a damned mess. Tattoo is stupid…not that fucking sexy.”

 

“On you it is,” Isumi replied softly, kissing the back of his neck again.

 

“Gonna put a couple of band-aids over it. `Specially if it gets me thrown over the arm of the couch!”

 

“You'll get thrown over the side of the couch no matter what you do,” Isumi murmured.

 

Waya could have sworn that he heard a smirk in the other boy's voice. “We'll just see about that!” At least he wasn't quite as winded as the last time they'd done this. Perhaps he was becoming better able to handle having the sense knocked out of him by Isumi's touch than he had been before.

 

“Do you mind having sex on the couch that much?” His lover sounded way too amused.

 

“Not sex,” Waya muttered rebelliously. “You called it making love.”

 

“What?” Isumi whispered, sounding startled.

 

“You heard me. Isn't that what you called it?”

 

“But you don't—“

 

Waya twisted around quickly, putting his fingers over Isumi's lips to stop the words. Those blue eyes were wide as they gazed down at him. “No,” he whispered, meeting that gaze with earnest eyes. “Don't say it. It's not just `sex'…not to you…and not to me.”

 

The dark-haired boy's eyes widened even further before closing in what looked like absolute joy.

 

Waya found himself dragged into a tight embrace that crushed the air out of his lungs, but he didn't really mind. He felt Isumi kiss the top of his head and only smiled a little.

 

“Waya…Waya…when you say things like that…it makes me so happy that I almost can't bear it.” Isumi's voice was shaking with emotion.

 

“I'm happy, too,” he murmured back, returning Isumi's embrace just as tightly. After a moment of warm bliss, he drew back a little, raising his brows as he saw that Isumi hadn't even completed undressing. “That's sad, really sad.” His lover had apparently only managed to remove his t-shirt to protect the couch, and hadn't bothered to completely remove his jeans or boxers. They were around Isumi's knees.

 

Isumi blushed a little, looking shy. “It just…happened. I couldn't help it.”

 

Waya just shook his head. “Do you want to take a shower? I think we need a shower.”

 

“You're beautiful, Waya. Did you know that?” Isumi's eyes were somber and full of emotion as they looked at him.

 

“No one has ever said that before, so I wasn't aware,” he replied with a grin. “Should I be worried, since I'm supposed to be a boy?” He was only teasing as he said it, for he found Isumi to be beautiful, too.

 

“No, you just need to be without clothing more often,” the other boy replied with a slight smirk, smacking Waya's backside.

 

“Isumi!”

 

The only response was his lover's laughter.