Hikago kink meme, round 2

[troisroyaumes]

Previous editions of the Hikago kink meme: round 1 here at hikarunogo and a previous version hosted on LJ by verloren1983.

As a way to get 2013 off to a new start, let's have round 2!

How it works: leave an anonymous* comment with character(s) and a kink (one prompt per comment please), and someone will reply anonymously* with a fic to match your request. All characters and kinks allowed.

* Not mandatory to comment anonymously, of course.

Also, gen prompts and fics are allowed with the caveat that the focus of the meme is on kinks. How you define kink is completely up to you.

Comments

Anyone - any rating - time travel.

[(Anonymous)]

:D?

FILL: Akira/Akira, Akira/Hikaru, Time Traveler's Wife AU

[catlarks]

This is for swag2016. I honestly had so many ideas for what to do with a prompt like this, but then this one scene from The Time Traveler's Wife stuck in my head and I knew what had to be done.

No knowledge of the book/movie required to understand or enjoy this fic, I'm just borrowing generously from the basic premise.

-

One moment, Akira is across from Hikaru at the goban, playing out a last game before they turn in for bed. The next, he's in a hotel room in a very different time and place.

He catches himself on the mattress after stumbling through his arrival, looking up just in time to be drawn up short staring at... Himself. For an instant surprise flickers across the other Akira's face, but only for that instant. They are both far too used to temporal displacement for a jump to leave them off-balance for long. And as places where he could have ended up go, appearing before himself is one of the least objectionable Akira can think of.

His other self is wearing a light violet suit, paired with a checkered shirt and a tie he is still in the process of tying. A glance around the hotel room — spare, hyper-modern décor, understated and just as familiar as the clothes — confirms it. This is the outfit Akira wore before the Judan title match. This is the morning before the first game.

"Ah," he says softly to himself. "I remember this."

"That makes one of us," other-Akira says, and he remembers that, too. "Do you have anything else to tell me?"

"We're stressed about the match," Akira says. "Because we're playing against Ogata-san, and he'd been making snide comments all through dinner last night. Don't worry about the match. Play thoughtfully. We're going to win."

"Win the title?" other-him asks, too carefully.

"Win the match," Akira says. "You know that we shouldn't tell each other everything."

He watches his own face frown at that, mouth creasing down to a thin line of disapproval. Lately this has been happening more and more — making small jumps through time, traveling no more than a year or two in either direction. It's different from when he was younger, jumping far into the future or well into the past, watching his father play key games before he ever became the Meijin, watching his mother struggle not to cry at his father's funeral even as he, only twelve years old, scrambled to get out of sight.

Akira doesn't know what it means, that he's moving around in time less but converging on himself more often. Sometimes Hikaru will tell him that he saw older-Akira once over breakfast, and then younger-Akira just after lunch, and it takes all of Akira's carefully employed rationality to resist becoming jealous of himself for having this time with Hikaru when Akira of the present is overloaded with event planning and other work.

It isn't that Akira dislikes himself, but he could stand to see less of his displaced alternatives.

"How long are you here for?" other-him asks, when he's swallowed his distaste over being the less informed party. "Do you remember?"

"Not long," Akira says. "Only a half hour or so. But I remember that we had a thought on how to pass the time, from when I was you."

That earns him a sharp-eyed, critical stare, before he looks pointedly toward the bed standing alone in the room and his other-self entirely catches his meaning. Akira watches the flare-up of indignation blossom across his own face, remembering only then that this is the first time.

"We want to pretend it's Shindou," he says, so softly, willing to admit it only because he has had the real thing, because he's speaking to a ghost of himself and knows that his words are incapable of going beyond the room. "And we know that if anyone can challenge us as much as he will, it's another version of ourself."

There's another flicker of outrage that passes across other-Akira's face, but it's squashed just as quickly. That Akira remembers most intimately of all, the stab in his gut from being told something he doesn't want to hear, something he didn't want to acknowledge, but from a source removed from any possibility of doubt. If he cannot trust himself, what is there to believe in, in the world?

"Pretend I'm Shindou," Akira says again, knowing gut-deep the script that's been laid out for him and bracing already for the storm that will come of it. "If I were him, we know exactly what you would do to me."

His other self surges forward, taking him by the front of his shirt and pulling him in. Memory floods him with a rich awareness of being unsure himself whether he wants to rear back and strike the face that's present before him, or whether he wants to kiss it for the totem it represents. For a moment, remembrance means nothing to him, and he flinches before the belief that he is about to be punched.

Then a mouth is upon him, furious with its desire, biting his lips and thrusting its tongue past his teeth.

Akira knows what Hikaru would do, and only kisses his younger self back harder. His hands rise to claw into the back of the suit jacket, gripping great fistfuls of the fabric and using that hold to pull them closer together. Their knees bump, legs slotting in between each other, hips butting up against hips as they push at each other and as Akira backs his double toward the bed. He's so consumed with kissing that he doesn't realize where he's been pushed until his knees hit the mattress, until Akira tips him over onto his back.

Akira breaks away for a moment, breathless and with lips bruised from pressure, staring down into his own face gone sharp and unfamiliar with longing. He wants what Akira has, knows instinctively that the "him" he's gripping has already attained their secret, selfish goal. His eyes are bright and fierce as he grips Akira tight by the arms, as he rolls him over so his back slams hard into the bed.

Akira gasps, and finds — almost to his own surprise — that he's smiling.

It's not a pleasant look, sharp-edged with superiority, is irritating enough that his other self growls in disapproval and dives on him again. That kiss is rougher still, messy with misplaced desire and clumsier yet from inexperience, other-him's mouth smearing against his even as familiar hips bear down against his hips. He can feel the hardness of his double's cock pressing against his thigh through the fabric of lilac suit pants, and can't help but laugh against the mouth doing its best to devour his own.

"I think he likes it," Akira says, voice bright and amused with the memory of how much it had maddened him to hear, "when we do this. You wouldn't think so, but it's always us pushing him around, shoving him into bed, and it's always Shindou laughing the whole way down, pulling us onto him like a challenge."

"In that case," his double says back, "you do a better impression of him than I thought you would."

Akira laughs again, this time sincerely startled, caught more off-guard by that than he'd thought he'd be. His double grabs for his pants, working them open and shoving his hands inside. They're less rough against his cock than Akira might have expected — definitely less rough than from his memory of doing this himself — and he pushes his hips up, remembering how responsive Hikaru is to being touched this way in bed.

"Don't leave me to have all the fun," he says, reaching up to undo his double's pants in better mirror. When he pulls out other-him's cock, their knuckles brush, and it's only a moment before his hand is being thrust away.

"I'll handle it," he's told, with conviction he recognizes to his core.

His other self bears down against him, rutting against his cock where it's pushed against his double's hand. It's messy, more inspiration than intention, and though there are a few nice moments of friction it's less satisfying than either of them would like. Before Akira can reach to correct this, his double wraps his hand about both of them and begins jerking them off, quick and tight.

His hips shift and his breath hitches, but his eyes can't help but focus on the familiar configuration of his own features, intense with concentration and completely unaware of his watching. Akira is entirely free to study himself — at least in between too-tight squeezes around his cock that distract him with gasping — is able to witness, like an out of body experience, his own single-minded focus on a task.

Other-him is breathing harder, outright shaking as he pushes his hips into his hand, and he is the one who finishes first, coming over the hem of Akira's shirt. It's with a drawn-out moan that ends in a soft, satisfied gasp, which is followed by Akira's double jerking back and away from him even before the warmth of his afterglow could have settled into his bones.

"At least we don't do that the first time we sleep with Shindou," Akira says tartly, reaching down to curl his own fingers back around his cock.

It's mechanical, the way he pulls himself off. All the energy of pushing at himself, goading his other self, has left with his double's disengagement from the game. There's no appeal in touching himself in that moment, but he does it until he comes against his own palm, before immediately rolling toward the small table beside the bed and the package of hotel tissues he knows will be waiting in the drawer.

"Why did we want to do this?" he hears, before there's shifting on the bed and his other self has slid his legs off to rest feet on the floor. "Now that I've done it, I'm... I can't imagine what had possessed us."

"I didn't understand, either," Akira says, offering other-him a tissue of his own. "Until after I played in today's match."

"We don't regret this, then."

"No. After all, isn't it the case that both of us will make any sacrifice, in pursuit of better Go?"

Other-him laughs, a brief, startled sound. The silence that follows it is pensive, like he's turning those words over but is unable to deny their reality. Finally he admits it aloud: "Of course. There is nothing more important."

"We're almost out of time," Akira tells him, rather than replying. "Good luck, in the title match."

"Isn't it improper to tell a player 'good luck'?" he's asked in return.

"Ordinarily," Akira agrees, as he stands from the bed and pursues a final round of straightening his clothing into its usual, proper order. "I believe we both concluded that in cases like this, where we know the outcome, it's only polite."

He doesn't know what his double says to him in return. Another moment and he's gone once again.

Shindou Hikaru - Wing fic

[(Anonymous)]

Porn or not porn, any pairing or gen. Hikaru with wings, because this fandom totally needs more wing!fic. XD

Isumi/Saeki - the reliable one

[(Anonymous)]

Both Isumi and Saeki are sometime seen to be the reliable ones - what if they decided to let things lose with each other for a little while?

Yashiro Kiyoharu/Shindou Hikaru

[(Anonymous)]

Disagreement over topping?

Ashiwara/Saeki - toys

[(Anonymous)]

Adding some adult toys just means double the fun for everyone right?

Waya/Hikaru

[(Anonymous)]

We'll be friends forever right?

[(Anonymous)]

Tsubaki/Hikaru Rough daddy bear topping.

Zelda

[(Anonymous)]

HEY ZELDA. YOU THINK YOUR SO SMART, AND CAN WRITE ANYTHING, WHY NOT TRY WRITING YOUR OTP, FEATURING A SNAKE, A DILDO AND CHOCALATE SAUCE. GO ON. I TRIPLE DOG DARE YOU.

[(Anonymous)]

Akira trolls Yoshitaka online after discovering him and somehow they end up having mad hatesex when Yoshitaka figures it out.

[(Anonymous)]

Ogata wearing women's panties. Should also included figging.

FILL: Ogata/Yun-sensei, D/s, lingerie, figging

[catlarks]

This is for swag2016. Part of me suspects this was a joke prompt. The rest of me Really Loves Figging. I hope you're still around, anon, and that you do want this.

Recommended reading: this incredibly overkill fill which is basically just me legitimizing Ogata and ~*Akira's middle school coach*~ as a ship. It's a really good crackship, just, just trust me.

(and idk if you don't like figging the other fic is just good old-fashioned D/s and anal)

-

The kitchen tiles are cold against Ogata's calves where he's kneeling before Yun on the floor.

The man's kitchen is small and neatly-kept, just one well-ordered piece of an organized apartment that has been kept to only the bare essentials. It supports a small table at which Yun takes his coffee in the mornings, and two chairs. Yun is sitting in one of them. Ogata has not been invited to sit in the other.

It's not morning, either, and though there is a book spread before Yun on the table — a perfect prop through which to feign disinterest in Ogata's presence within the room — it isn't enough to hold Yun's attention. That Ogata can feel settling heavily onto himself, the weight of Yun's gaze such that it processes as pressure, dragging down the length of Ogata's bare chest before coming to linger on the space between Ogata's thighs and staring with some interest.

For someone whose profession is performed in seiza, sitting with his legs folded beneath him is no great strain for Ogata. What becomes difficult is the inaction, remaining still and uncomplaining as Yun studies him and ignores him by turns. Yun is still dressed in his work clothes after a day of teaching, appearing neat and composed in a collared shirt and khaki pants. Ogata is in nothing save a pair of women's panties.

They are what has caught Yun's attention, his eyes lingering on the shape of Ogata's cock underneath the thin cloth.

Yun leans forward, sliding one foot up between Ogata's legs to press against his groin. The cotton of his work socks drags against the satin of Ogata's undergarments, and he fights back his body's impulse to rise into the touch. Yun raises his brows at him before pressing his heel more firmly in against the base of Ogata's cock, and this time, Ogata cannot fight back the gasp that emerges past his lips.

"You were doing well," Yun points out, more as if to say, and now you aren't. "But that should not be a surprise. We both already know you're good at kneeling."

His voice is pleasant, even, no different from how it always sounds. The cadence of Yun's words washes over Ogata like a familiar tide, even as his neck flushes at the comment that could be just as much an insult as it is a compliment. With Yun, it's never fully evident which meaning he intends — Ogata privately suspects that it is both.

"I don't know if it's worth rewarding someone, for something they can do all day without difficulty."

"I thought you were going to reward me for my patience," Ogata says, having pride enough to sass.

Yun shrugs. "That too. But wouldn't you like to make things more challenging?"

And there it is, the surprise Ogata has been waiting for all this time. Even from the floor, he smiles.

Yun takes that look alone as all the answer he needs and pulls from behind his elbow a familiar, knobbly object. Ogata watches, as Yun takes up a knife from atop the table and begins slivering off the ginger root's skin. He swallows against the constriction forming in his throat, focused on observing Yun's deftly-moving hands, on watching him whittle the ginger down to its pale, seeping insides. Ogata's gut clenches and his own insides squirm, fighting against the knowledge of where that root is meant to go.

Yun obligates Ogata to watch the entire slow, methodical process while he shapes the root into a toy. It allows Ogata time to contemplate how it will feel, stinging inside of him, time to process what he's agreeing to. He's too stubborn, too proud, to change his mind and say no.

"Lean back," Yun says, as soon as his work with the knife has been finished. "And spread your legs."

Ogata does, chin tipped up as he presses his palms against the floor for balance and pushes apart his thighs. Doing so only makes it all the more apparent how he's hard beneath the panties, the head of his cock poking up past the thin band of elastic. Even the promise of pain has not been enough to damper his enthusiasm for Yun's particular brand of control.

Yun slides from his chair to the floor beside Ogata, putting them on a level. His face is calm and composed even as he reaches between Ogata's legs, even as he is the one to pull the crotch of Ogata's panties to one side with steady, stone-callused fingers. His expression, mild as it is, gives nothing of his feelings away. But his face is close, close enough that Ogata can see the concentrated little furrow between his brows, intent as he stares down at Ogata's hole.

He doesn't say it, but the deliberate pause reads as nothing so much as an, Are you ready?

Ogata is glad he isn't asked. If he was pressed to reply, he couldn't say what answer he would give. He isn't prepared. at least, that much is for sure. He suspects there is no preparing for this — even if Yun had loosened him gently with his fingers, stretching Ogata open with familiar, practiced hands, he's certain that his body would fight the intrusion of what's about to be pressed into him just the same as it will when Yun has done no such thing.

It stings, from the very instant the tip of the root is pressed against Ogata's skin. Yun has carved the end of the ginger into a gently tapering point in preparation to push it into Ogata's body, but it's leaking runny fluid and every place the ginger oil touches immediately starts to burn. Ogata can't help but squirm, his body cringing away, and Yun's hand goes from pulling at the panties to clamping, bracingly, around Ogata's thigh.

Ogata hisses between his teeth and scrabbles fingers against the floor and still Yun is steady, pushing the makeshift dildo into him an inch at a time while his body struggles, vainly, involuntarily, to force it out. With each passing moment the burning grows worse, like a fire that, once caught, can do nothing save consume. It swallows Ogata up, searing his insides raw and setting him to panting and squirming, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he clamps down on the toy again, and again. Each time he does he squeezes the ginger further into himself, and each time he does that he can't help but gasp again, making high, ragged sounds that break with his discomfort.

When only an inch of unpeeled root remains outside Ogata's body, Yun lets the crotch of Ogata's panties slide back into its proper place between his legs.

"Good?" Yun asks him, in that same, casual way he always does.

Ogata can only laugh in response, high and somewhat hysterical, his voice breaking as the sound shades into more of a groan. Without Yun's hands holding his legs apart his thighs clamp closed and he curls forward over top of them, as if he's protecting the awful, foreign thing lodged inside of him, rather than longing to claw it out of his body.

"Not exactly," Ogata bites out.

"But you'll last," Yun surmises, watching the scrunched-in, defiant set of Ogata's face; watching the lines of tension strung taut through Ogata's body. "Won't you?"

Ogata only glares at him, with the same intensity usually reserved for opponents sitting across from him before a Go board.

Yun nods to himself, as if that is answer enough, before reaching forward to tuck his fingers between Ogata's legs. Even pressed together as they are he succeeds in nudging the elastic of the panties down, pushing it aside until Ogata's cock slides all the way free. Strained though he might be — entire body shaking, eyes tearing, breath coming in small, shuddering gasps — his cock is, if anything, harder still than before.

Yun wraps his fist around it, and slowly begins to jerk Ogata off.

All the breath he's keeping in rushes out of him in a sob, his hips pushing insistently up into Yun's hand. He can't hold still. The burn from the ginger is still spreading through him, consuming what it touches and leaving constant pain and trembling behind. But the burn also warms him up, heating his insides until the itching inside of him is near-unbearable — until the touch of Yun's hand tugging at his cock becomes the only possible form of release. Ogata thrusts against Yun's palm without being able to stop himself, the motions messy and clumsy and utterly desperate. Yun only rewards him in his need with the gift of steady, building friction.

Ogata ruts against Yun's hand until the pressure builds, until it crests, until he's coming over Yun's fingers with a sucked-in wheeze that's as much a product of his orgasm as it is one of the ginger. Yun's hand keeps moving, keeps tugging at his cock which hasn't yet gotten the message to relent, and Ogata doesn't have the presence of mind to tell Yun that he can stop.

He shakes his way through to another convulsion, until he jerks like a hooked fish and shakes so hard he can't say whether he's come again dry. His hand snaps down to grab Yun by the wrist and this time, his message is clear.

"Out," he manages through grit-together teeth, struggling to force his own legs farther apart so Yun will grasp what he means. "I'm done, out, take it out."

Yun doesn't fight him on this. He reaches between Ogata's legs and pulls aside the panties, pries the ginger back out of a body that's as unwilling to let it go as it was willing to allow it ease of entrance. But it drags free with some pulling, and while the pain drops quickly off by half, the burning does not immediately fade away.

Ogata's face contorts, multiple times, hunched over as he is but with his gaze tipped up to stare into Yun's eyes. His thighs have gravitated back together, attempting to protect him from the itching, crawling sensation still sending chills wracking through him and leaving his guts a heaving, clenching mess.

"It's still," he starts to say, against the clenching of his teeth, "it didn't stop."

"I believe that's how it works," Yun confides. "The irritant is in the plant's juices, and those are still inside of you."

His hands are gentle on Ogata's thighs, stroking lightly down his legs, soothing a body which is still weakly trembling in lingering reaction. His mouth finds Ogata's mouth, kissing him slowly in welcome distraction.

"It should die away in, oh, I believe my reading on the subject has suggested something like twenty minutes?" Yun continues, upon breaking away from the kiss.

He leans back, pushing up from the floor and again taking a seat in his chair beside the table. His book he pulls back in front of himself, unfolding it to the place he had marked when he'd set it aside. He glances down at Ogata who, with thighs pressed together and fingers gripping, white-knuckled, about his knees, is as good as sitting in seiza.

"That should be just enough time for me to finish the chapter," Yun says. "And as I believe we agreed earlier, if you can sit quietly and neatly for that time, I will provide you some reward."

Ogata bites his tongue on whichever nasty thing he's tempted to say, aware that their little waiting game has finally become a suitable challenge — and unwilling to forfeit the prize he has at that point most certainly earned.

[(Anonymous)]

Kink: Pregnant sex. As in, smutty fic with one of the characters being knowingly and visibly pregnant. It would be awesome if the other character was turned on by it, but not absolutely necessary or anything.

I'm not terribly particular about pairing here (but if we can keep Ochi, Ogata, Kuwabara, Touya Kouyo, and Kurata out of the actual sex part, I would be forever grateful), but no mpreg PLEASE. Genderswitching one or more characters is totally acceptable.

*dies of embarrassment*

Rounded

[mmmdraco]

Tatsuhiko held her hands to support her as she moved one knee across his thighs to straddle him, his thumb stroking along the callus he knew was there; knew from having that hand nearly everywhere on his body. Chieko laughed as she pulled her hands away and pressed them into the bed on either side of him, positioning herself carefully on top of him and pressing steadily against his cock, lubricating him with her own moisture, until she sat perched atop his cock.

He lifted his hands and pressed them against her stomach firmly, his fingers stroking against the rounded surface. "I was never into this kind of thing before you," he said as she shifted on top of him again, her belly pressing against his abdomen as she leaned forward. "But, you..."

She tucked her hair behind one ear and then leaned down even further, He longed to flip her over and slide into her again and again, his hands wrapping around her thighs and dragging her onto his cock repeatedly, leaving the sheets a tangle beneath them. His body urged him toward it, even let him buck his hips against her own, but Chieko would frown and cup the bottom of her distended stomach and whisper, "That hurts, Tatsu-kun," and he would still his hips and watch as she shifted on top of him, grinding her pelvis down agaist him, but never going as deep as he wanted.

"Can I...?" He finally asked and she nodded shyly, sitting back on his cock and groaning. He cupped her ass in his hands and held her up slightly as he leaned toward her. She moved her hands to one of her breasts and held it up for him, her tongue tracing along her teeth as he moved forward and took her nipple into his mouth, his lips closing around it as she moved one hand into his hair, clutching at the roots and pushing his forward. His nose dug into her flesh, making it hard to breathe, but he suckled at her nipple, taking long pulls from it as she arched her back toward him and started to twist her hips.

It was as she began to raise herself up from his cock, only the tiniest bit, and then began to drop down, twisting as she drew just shy of bottoming out, that he drew the first few drops of milk from her. It was thick and sweet and lay heavy on his tongue as he mouthed more and more of that nipple, sucking harder, even bringing up his hand to squeeze lightly at her flesh. "You taste delicious," he murmurred as he pulled away to breathe for a moment and nuzzled his unshaven cheek against her breast, groaning in delight at the noises she made.

After a moment of drowing in her flavor, Tatsuhiko moved to the other breast, sucking hungrily until it likewise gave up the first drops of liquid upon his tongue. His hand stroked at the first breast, massaging it and tugging at her nipple, drawing soft noises from her, until it gave up a few more drops of liquid. He ran his fingers through them, let them trail across her breast, and squeezed at her flesh, his mouth still working hard on the other side.

Chieko continued to work her hips against him, taking him as deep as she dared without pressing against her swollen cervix. She manuvered one of her arms through the tangle of their limbs and around her pregnant belly and pressed two of her fingers against her clitoris. As Tatsuhiko stroked her, she pressed her fingers together around that nub, rubbing them together and igniting every spark of passion within her and hadn't already been stoked to a roaring blaze.

She pulled his head up, the noise of his mouth separating from her breast seeming to send a jolt of pleasure straight through her, and kissed him, her tongue delving into his mouth and tasting herself on his tongue. She found she liked the sweetness of it and her mouth quested after it, drawing his tongue into her own mouth and suck at the end, licking along the edges of his mouth, biting his lip and dragging it with her wherever she felt like moving...

Tatsuhiko clutched at her ass again, his long fingers spreading her embarassingly open and she pushed herself onto him with more energy, still careful not to push down too far in fear of pain. Her fingers slipped, her fingernails scraping against her clit, and she gasped loudly, clutching him to her and damning the belly and the breasts as they kept her from pressing flush against him. She rode him faster still, letting her fingers clutch at the base of his cock to give her body some idea of its limits.

"Chieko~" he groaned out a moment later, his fingers clutching his slightly widened hips as he came inside of her. She wiggled her hips again as he panted out breaths against her collarbone, closing her eyes in pleasure at the feel of his come leaking out from her. He stroked her hair and helped her to sit up and move off to the side of the bed, his fingers stroking over her skin, especially her stomach, in a way that seemed both protective and erotic to her.

She leaned over onto him, her arms pillowed against his dampened thigh, and smiled sleepily. "That was nice," she said as her eyelids drooped. "We should get some sleep."

He moved her hair back and smiled. "I was sleeping, but someone else had to wake me up for sex. Was it a little much for you, darling?"

Grabbing her blanket off of the floor where she'd kicked it after her initial proposition, she pulled it on top of her, kicking the bottom quickly with her feet to try to straighten it out. "Most guys wouldn't complain about their wives wanting sex, you know."

Tatsuhiko ran a hand up the blanket where it housed her hip. "I'm not, in any way, complaining. I'm stating the facts."

She tossed the covers over her head and mumbled out her next words, "I liked it, too. Now, good night."

Grabbing the other side of the blanket, he dragged it up to cover himself and leaned back into his pillow, trying not to focus on the sound of Chieko tossing and turning in order to get comfortable. As much as he'd tried, it was the only thing in the bedroom that he seemed utterly unable to help her with. He smacked his lips as his head fell to the side, still tasting just a hint of her along his tongue, and loving every moment.

Touya Kouyou, Seo Chang-won: wifeswapping

[(Anonymous)]

Soft swap, hard swap, or full-on foursome!

"Spouseswapping" is a better term, since AFAIK Seo Chang-won's sexuality is wide open

Yashiro - Acousticophilia

[(Anonymous)]

Yashiro is turned on by the sound of go stones on a goban.

Snap.

[(Anonymous)]

The sharp click of a go stone snapped upon a goban cuts through Kiyoharu's fitful sleep. The sound is crisp, pure: it lingers in the air, as clear and as sure as a single note written upon a blank staff.

Snap. Another stone to answer the first. No less crisp, no less sure, though there is a delicacy to it, a roundness. A second hand, then, placing stones upon the board.

A bright spark of irritation sparks through Kiyoharu. They're playing already, he thinks. They couldn't even wake me up. But a spark is all Kiyoharu can summon; he knows all too well about the mutual obsession in which Shindou and Touya have entangled each other, and the impossibility of getting between them. The three of them spent yesterday reviewing the tournament appearances of the Chinese team, and today they have set for review of the Korean team, so early morning before dawn breaks is the only time Shindou and Touya will have to work out their aggression against each other until after the Hokuto Cup.

Snap. The urgency of the stone clears Kiyoharu's head and sharpens his senses, demanding he focus.

Snap. A decisive answer, piercing the air before the silence can return.

The stones fall in a steady rhythm, one after the next, building their territories with joseki that are clearly old friends to them both. It doesn't tell Kiyoharu much about the shape of the game, only that they are both confident, and so instead he focuses on the shape of the sounds of the stones as they are placed upon the board.

Even through the shoji Kiyoharu can tell that the stones lack both the dull clack of plastic and the brittle sharpness of glass, and every other stone rings differently than the one placed directly before. It's not just that there are two people placing the stones, but there are two different types of stones being placed.

Kiyoharu's played countless games in countless salons, watched hundreds of matches on the tapes Yoshikawa-sensei made for him when school kept him from his studies; he's spent too many nights with stones ringing in his ears not to be able to distinguish them: slate and clamshell, both singing out so brightly that the stones must be being placed upon a kaya board. Yesterday the three of them laid out games in glass stones across two katsura boards; Touya must be feeling sentimental.

Snap.

Kiyoharu's played go with plastic stones, with glass, with starch, with Yunzi. He's played on pine, on spruce, on agathis, on katsura. The materials don't make the game: one of the fiercest and most audacious games he's ever played was on an unfolded magnetic board barely wider than the span of his hand, with stones made of magnets glued inside plastic shells no bigger than his pinky nail. And yet there's something undeniably seductive about the sound of slate and clamshell on kaya: a clarity, a fullness, a roundness, a rightness.

Snap.

Kiyoharu would describe himself as pragmatic, and fully acknowledges that go is a game, but even a pragmatist would have to admit in the face of overwhelming evidence that go is also a journey to a place that can never be found, a search for perfection that cannot exist, an unknowable query that will never be answered. To play go is to become himself even more than he was before, and the clarity of purpose it's given him, fierce and focused and bright, is something he knows he'll never be able to find in anything else. It's worth treasuring, worth celebrating, worth utilising the equipment that best enhances the act, and there is nothing like the sound of slate and clamshell on kaya, nothing at all in all the world.

It's hypnotic, the steady, even clicking of the stones as they're placed onto the board by practised hands. Kiyoharu's heard the snap of thousands of stones, tens and hundreds of thousands of stones in hundreds and thousands of games, and he doesn't need to see the board to know the flow of the game.

They're slowing. They've laid claim in broad strokes, and now they're sizing each other up. Clamshell is placed almost gently, and only moments later slate is snapped upon the board with a decisiveness that can only mean a challenge. And indeed it is: there is a flurry of stones one after another, snap, snap, snap, and as the pause before the next stone draws out longer and longer Kiyoharu feels his lungs burning with the need for oxygen as he holds his breath in sympathy. Then the snap! of slate, and Kiyoharu draws in a long, slow breath that fills every alveolus in his lungs with pure, sweet air. He can feel the relief flowing through him from the tips of his fingers down to the pads on his toes, and he has to smile as clamshell fights back with an almost petulant stone, the sound uneven as if wobbling from a messy play.

Snap! goes slate, and then the soft shuffling as two stones are plucked from the board and then dropped into the empty lid of a goke, rattling.

Kiyoharu can hear voices from the next room, soft and indistinct. The lower pitch of voices doesn't travel as well as the sharp clicks of the stones, but he's spent enough time in far too close proximity to them not to be able to imagine all too well what the two of them are nattering at each other. And it doesn't matter anyway; the only answer that matters is the one they write in the stones.

Clamshell returns to the field of battle with a steady hand, laying down a new stone. Slate is thoughtful, but unhesitating, and they begin a new rally, this one slower but no less sure than the first.

Snap after snap, stone after stone, and when soon their pace has begun to quicken so too does the pace of Kiyoharu's breathing. He can't help it; there's nothing he could possibly do to separate himself from the stones. He has no hope of drowning out the sound; the sweet, clear notes singing from the kaya would reach him even if he were to pull his blanket over his head. All he can do is to listen, and to let go as his breathing quickens and his pulse begins to pound.

Again and again, snap, snap, snap, and it might as well be speed go for the time neither of them take to think. It's a game played solely on reflex, fuelled by adrenaline, and even though he hasn't so much as placed a single stone Kiyoharu is caught up in it too, heart hammering in his chest. His breaths are so shallow that only the frantic pace of them allows him to breathe, and all the muscles in his body are tensing in anticipation of the battle he'll never fight.

Snap, snap, snap, and Kiyoharu can't avoid it anymore; he has to reach a hand down to the front of his boxers to adjust the lay of his cock to a more comfortable angle. He can feel the pounding of his heartbeat in the pulse throbbing in his hard-on, and he'd only meant to free his dick from the uncomfortable angle at which it was trapped but he can't help but give himself a squeeze, just one. Just one to steady his nerves. But then his cock twitches in his hand and he feels the pre-come oozing out to soak his underwear and the briefs are far too tight as it is so he slides his hand under the waistband to grasp himself directly, and he tosses his head back as he takes himself firmly in hand.

Snap! goes clamshell, and the stones fall quiet, and it's the only thing in the world that could still his hand but it does, and he waits. Kiyoharu has his cock in his hand, the wet tip tantalisingly cooled by the nighttime air, and his briefs are pulled down just enough for his cock to jut out, and his almost-pants are so loud in his ears that he can't imagine they can't hear him, they have to be able to hear him. They have to be able to hear him lying here with his hand on his cock, they have to know, and the worst part is that if they know, they'll stop. They'll stop their game, and Kiyoharu will never get what it is that he needs.

Snap! goes slate, and stones scrape the board as they're picked up, and when they're dropped into the lid of the goke to rattle against the other prisoners Kiyoharu has to bite his lip against the moan in his throat as he strokes a slick bead of pre-come from his cock, sliding his fingertips through it, rubbing it into the skin of his shaft.

Clamshell is tentative now when it clicks upon the board, and slate is quieter still, but it's all right. Even as Kiyoharu's pulse refuses to slow, he can manage the pace of his breathing, and the pace of his hand as he strokes himself.

Gentle. Testing. He can't tell who's ahead, since slate has the prisoners but clamshell has the confidence, but it doesn't matter. What matters is they're playing, one soft, thoughtful clack after another, and it's perfect. It gives Kiyoharu a chance to master himself, to catch his breath.

He doesn't pretend he's going to stop the movement of his hand. His need is far too keen to ignore, and he's alone and guaranteed to be uninterrupted for as long as the game goes on.

Clamshell snaps on the board with a decisiveness it hasn't seen in twenty hands, and slate answers it with a furious snap! that sounds as if it might crack a lesser stone. Then they're off again, playing hand after hand, stone chasing stone so rapidly that all the work Kiyoharu'd done to calm himself is for naught and he's panting again, fisting his cock with long, frantic strokes, raising his ass off the futon so he can pull his briefs down his thighs with his free hand. He reaches up with a foot to snag the material and pull them all the way down and out of the way so he can spread his legs and cup his balls.

Snap! goes slate, and the guttural growl of frustration he hears isn't his own as one, two, three, four stones scrape lightly against wood as they're plucked from the board, the clicking as they are gathered muffled by the hand that surrounds them, then the whispering clatter as the prisoners are deposited, settling into place amongst their comrades. Clamshell was clearly expecting this, its next stone snapping upon the board without hesitation, and then there is the scrape of two stones as they are removed. They rattle as they're dropped into the empty goke lid, sliding against the polished wood.

Kiyoharu feels a droplet of sweat dripping down from his temple, down to his neck. He bites his lip as he gives his balls a squeeze, just hard enough to make himself ache, and when he gives his shaft a firm stroke he feels a new drop of pre-come swell at the tip of his dick.

Slate cracks against the board so loudly and so clearly that it could be the report of a gunshot, but clamshell isn't cowed and answers smartly, clacking firmly against the board, and Kiyoharu’s breathing stutters as he hears the whisper-slide of the stone being moved into place.

Snap, comes slate, and the race is on.

Faster and faster the stones are placed upon the board, some razor-sharp with violent clarity, others thick and muted from a heavy hand. Faster and faster Kiyoharu’s breaths come, until all he can do is pant. Faster and faster his hand moves, and he feels his toes curl as he arches back against the futon, as if the new angle will allow him to fuck his hand with greater fervour.

A clamshell stone thock!s against the board and and at last the game and Kiyoharu both have time to catch their breath. The stone wobbles, and the exquisite harmonics of the kaya capture the sound and amplify it; Kiyoharu can hear it rocking as clearly as if someone was pouring it directly into his ear. He has time enough to breathe, to release his hold on his cock and lick a wet line across his palm before grasping himself once more.

Then there is a whisper of stones against stones, and then when a cascade of stones--slate, they’re slate, they have to be slate--fall upon the board, it’s the only thing he can hear: the sound of the stones clattering against each other, against the board; they’re knocking stones out of place, sliding them off the sides of the board down to the tatami.

As the game is thrown out of square so too is Kiyoharu’s composure and he breaks, every muscle in his body tensing as he works his cock with both hands, fucking the tight hollows of his fists as his orgasm crashes into him with all of the ferocious surety of stones upon wood. He grits his teeth as he forces himself not to moan, not to gasp, not to make a sound, and his teeth grind together as he writhes and jerks and shakes and he’s coming, pulse after pulse after pulse, before he finally falls back to the futon empty and spent.

Kiyoharu’s breathing. He’s aware of every inhale, every exhale; he lengthens them with every breath. As he comes back to himself he can feel his legs aching from having been tensed so tightly, his limbs trembling from the strain, and his fevered skin damp with a faint sheen of sweat that cools on his skin.

He hears the stones again--not the sharp snap of proper placement, but dull clicks and clacks as they’re picked off the board and placed back into their goke. He can hear the low, indistinct sound of voices talking--and if they’re done, they’re probably going to want to get started on the day ahead, so Kiyoharu better get a move on.

He has just enough time to wipe his come-slick hand off on his discarded underwear when the shouji slides open and Shindou comes striding into the room. “Hey, get up!” Shindou calls, stepping over his own abandoned futon to stand over Kiyoharu. “Dude, we’ve got about a million games to go over today.”

“Getting up,” Kiyoharu says shortly, and cracks his jaw in a yawn.

“Yeah, no, you totally aren’t, you’re just lying there. C’mon,” Shindou says, and when he leans over to grab hold of Kiyoharu’s covers and yank Kiyoharu is just fast enough to grab a handful himself, preventing Shindou from seeing anything below the waist.

“If you’re trying to see me naked, at least take me out to dinner first!” Kiyoharu growls in protest.

“I wasn’t! Wait, are you naked? You weren’t naked last night. Are you naked? Seriously? Uh, I mean, not like I’m asking. Because I wasn’t,” Shindou says, dropping the covers and backing away, stumbling as he trips over his own futon. “Um, I’m gonna go. Right now. And make breakfast. So if you want breakfast, there’ll be something other than Touya’s godawful miso. But, um, after you stop being naked. Um...” Shindou says, trailing off as he trails his gaze down Kiyoharu’s torso. “Rice omelets. I’m making rice omelets,” he says.

Shindou’s still standing in the doorway and decidedly not leaving, and it occurs to Kiyoharu that he could ask about the game. He could ask about Shindou’s game with Touya, and they could talk it out over breakfast, and Kiyoharu could find out just how exactly the game unfolded, and which of the two was slate and which was clamshell.

He doesn’t realise he’s staring at Shindou’s fingers for some clue that won’t be there until Shindou swallows, noticeable because of the strangled noise he makes while doing so. “Rice omelets,” Shindou repeats, and flees the room.

Yashiro - Macrogenitalism

[(Anonymous)]

Turns out Yashiro's really packing.

Yashiro - Vicarphilia

[(Anonymous)]

At first Yashiro was all "Too Much Info, Hikaru", when it came to those end of the month phone calls, where Hikaru alternatively bragged and complained about his sex life. But some of those stories, some of those stories are quite hot indeed. It's not like Hikaru's expecting too much of a response from him anyway.

Touya Kouyou/Shindou Hikaru, Touya Akiko: voyeurism

[(Anonymous)]

With Akiko's permission. If you want Akiko or Akira to join in, go ahead!

Wax Play

[(Anonymous)]

Hikaru/Anyone; wax play with the candle then being used for insertion and Hikaru's body heat making the candle bend.

[(Anonymous)]

Touya Akira, in bed, acting like the sadist that he truly is (deep down), together with someone who is normally an authority figure. The more polite Touya is usually to the person, and the nastier he is in bed in contrast, the better.

Ichikawa Harumi/Ashiwara Hiroyuki: Getting caught having sex

[(Anonymous)]

Bonus points if it's in the salon, or maybe the Touya residence during a get-together <3

[(Anonymous)]

Ko Yeongha/Waya Yoshitaka

Hair pulling

[(Anonymous)]

Saeki Kouji/Touya Akira

Bondage

[(Anonymous)]

Kurata Atsushi/Kadowaki Tatsuhiko

Food sex

[(Anonymous)]

Ogata Seiji/Saeki Kouji

Posessiveness

[(Anonymous)]

Yashiro Kiyoharu/Waya Yoshitaka/Shindou Hikaru

Double penetration

Belief

[mmmdraco]

Shindou laughed nervously as he felt one of Yashiro's hand slide along his naked hip. "So, we're really gonna do this?"

Waya rolled his eyes and finished taking off his pants. "You're the one who said you wanted it."

Kissing one of Shindou's shoulderblades, Yashiro let out a soft hum. "You said that neither one of us was enough for you."

"And considering what he's packing..." Waya stepped closer and ran a hand down Shindou's chest. "Just relax. It just seems like a big deal, but I think you'll love it. And you can tell us to stop, and we will." His fingers traced past Shindou's navel and down into the thatch of hair that framed his half-hard cock. "We just want to make you feel good," Waya said, drawing out each word, as he began to stroke the other man.

Yashiro kissed down Shindou's back, his hands leading the way and gently massaging Shindou. Shindou leaned back into the touch as Waya began to kiss the tip of his cock and gasped as Yashiro's fingers first stroked down his cleft. "I just don't know, guys... I mean, I've seen the porn. I know some people can do it. I'm just not sure that I can."

With a laugh, Yashiro lubed up his fingers and brought them to Shindou's entrance. "I've seen how easy you can take me. You're going to love it."

Shindou took a deep breath and lost himself in the sensations as much as he could while wondering if they were going to accidentally tear him apart. It didn't take long just having those fingers in him that Shindou found himself spreading his legs and arching his back, stifling a moan as the head of his cock pulled from Waya's mouth but he sank down further onto Yashiro's fingers. "More," he whispered and he licked his lips as a third lubricated finger breached him, slicking him up and spreading him. "Okay, let's do this," he said, panting.

Yashiro sat down on the floor and pulled Shindou down on top of him. Waya knelt down in front of them and smiled as he grabbed the lube and added a coating of it to Yashiro's cock, drawing a moan from the other man. "Hold on to me if you need to, but I just want to see you sink down on his dick."

Shindou crouched on the floor, moving his hips until he felt the head of Yashiro's thick cock pressing against his entrance and he reached out a hand to grasp Waya's shoulder as he sank down, fighting the urge to close his eyes against the sensation because the look on Waya's face was just as erotic. "Get ready," Shindou said, feeling his body accomodate Yashiro almost too quickly. "I want you in me, too."

Waya slicked himself up as Shindou lay back against Yashiro's chest, smiling as the taller man wrapped his arms around Shindou and licked a line of sweat from his neck. Waya laughed softly and moved himself forward so that his hard cock just brushed against Shindou's own. "You never realize how much you want it until you're getting it, do you?"

"That's not shoving it in me," Shindou said, pulling Waya closer and biting at his bottom lip sharply.

"He's a mouthy thing, isn't he?" Yashiro rotated his hips and Shindou groaned and pushed Waya back up, giving him a pleading look.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Waya asked, cock in hand, stroking himself slowly as Shindou's legs spread even further and the younger boy nodded. Waya held on to his cock tightly, pressing it alongside Yashiro's slowly, carefully, easing himself inside the other boy and watching his face for telltale signs of discomfort. He saw, instead, a look of sublime ecstacy as Shindou gave himself over to the feelings.

When Waya's balls were nudging against Yashiro's own, Shindou reached down and took himself in hand, stroking himself back to aching hardness. "Fuck me," he said sharply, his back sliding easily in the sweat on Yashiro's abdomen as he arched to press himself more firmly on the two cocks pressed inside of him.

Yashiro pushed his hips upward and groaned. "You'll have to do most of the work," he said with a grin. Waya returned the look and leaned further over Shindou, steadying himself against the floor with one arm on either side of Yashiro. He pulled himself from Shindou, eased back until the head of his dick was stretching against Shindou's rim again, then slamed it back home, his brain cataloguing the difference that the extra tight hold and the slide against Yashiro's cock made.

Shindou's hand worked in time with Waya's thrusts, his fingers dragging his foreskin almost uncomfortably far, his balls pulled upward with every stroke. Nothing hurt; it was just pressure on his limits, pushing them further with every move. His eyes closed and he let himself feel the press of Waya's arms against his sides and Yashiro's broad chest flexing across his back. As Waya shoved his knees up further, pressing them upward as he started to fuck Shindou in earnest, Shindou groaned and came all over his stomach, his hand coaxing the rest from his cock.

With a soft moan, Waya sped up his thrusts, his efforts seeming to shake Shindou's body. Yashiro let one hand clutch Shindou's hip, but used the other to slide through the smaller man's release, dragging it up his stomach and carding it through his pubic hair. Shindou nodded at the gesture and moved his own hand to play through the come, even marking one pale line of it down the center of Waya's chest. Waya groaned and thrust into Shindou, hard, and came, his hips continuing to beat against Shindou's ass for a few more strokes. He pulled out and sat back on his haunches, letting his hands move to Yashiro's thighs.

"Fuck him," Waya whispered and bit his lip as he watched Yashiro thrust into Shindou from below, his large cock dragging out Waya's come. Yashiro grunted and Waya watched as he shoved into Shindou with a shuddering gasp, his balls pulled up tight against the base of his dick. He twitched his hips upward a few more times, and then pulled Shindou upward so that he could bury his face against Shindou's neck, his cock slipping from Shindou and causing him to murmur out protests at the loss.

Waya pulled Shindou down beside Yashiro and climbed up next to him, his hand catching on the drying come on Shindou's stomach. "You guys were right," Shindou said with a laugh. "Next time you guys want to try something, I'm just going to believe you."

Yashiro caught Waya's eye and they shared a smile as they each stoked a hand down Hikaru's chest.

[(Anonymous)]

Ko Yeongha/Shindou Hikaru/Yashiro Kiyoharu

Orgasm denial