Rivalry (Hikaru no Go, Akira/Hikaru)

They were rivals, eternal opposites in life. He was dark and the other was light, an inverted reflection of the pieces they drew, and they weren’t meant to have come together like this. But somehow the light drew in the darkness, or maybe it was dark drawing in the light that led them to this place.

Akira stared down, his eyes lidded and his breath heavy as he moved, thrusting his hips forward with stern force. He’d won. He had control. He was the victor. Right now, he was the one leading the game and Hikaru was following him. And it felt divine. His breath came harder, his hips pumping faster into that soft, warm tunnel that welcomed him, felt like home.

He looked down suddenly, eyes opening partway to stare down at the writhing creature of light splayed on the sheets below him. Hikaru, light like his name, shining forth to the dark corners of Akira’s soul. Light was supposed to drive away the demons that haunted him but it only fueled their thirst, and each tiny taste fired his obsession, leaving him craving for more. Hikaru’s hands fisted in the pillow above him, his head thrown back into its feathery softness as he lifted his hips wantonly into each of Akira’s thrusts. He was begging for it, a panoply of noises falling from kiss-stained lips as he asked Akira to take him, harder, faster, please oh please. The only point of contact between them was the joining of their bodies and Akira’s hands, digging tightly into Hikaru’s hips in a hold so possessive it could never be ignored. Hikaru was his now, and he’d won.

And then their eyes met, and he saw light swimming in Hikaru’s eyes. There was something else there as well, and suddenly Akira felt fear creep up his spine in an icy wave.

He’d lost.