Hikaru no Go Standalone

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Branch

Mostly Akira/Hikaru stories, and mostly fluff.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Easy" published on 2008-03-28 16:07:50.

"The Hand of Fashion" published on 2008-05-07 13:49:04.

"Stones In the Road" published on 2012-06-01 21:16:19.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is "Horikiri no hanashoubu" by Utagawa Horishige, public domain (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hiroshige,_Horikiri_iris_garden,_1857.jpg).

Cover design by Branch.

Easy

Hikaru is very matter-of-fact about intimacy, which is probably why it works. Pre-Romance, I-2

"Touya, move back a bit."

Akira sighed. Shindou could get downright pushy about being able to see the board, even when Akira was just recreating games. "Fine." He scooted back on the smooth boards of the porch, eyes not leaving his book.

So he was startled to feel a sudden weight on his folded legs.

He looked down and, indeed, that was Shindou's head in his lap.

"Shindou, what are you doing?"

"Studying." Shindou waved a handful of kifu, a wealth of what, are you going blind? in his voice.

Akira eyed him for a moment. Shindou looked perfectly comfortable. Finally his mouth quirked and he shook his head, looking back at his book and picking up the next stone.

After a while he shifted the book to his other hand so he could brush his fingers through Shindou's hair while he thought.

End

The Hand of Fashion

Hikaru more or less dares Akira to go shopping. Written purely because I think it's a crime to see someone so good looking dress so badly, and I bet Hikaru would agree. Humor, I-2

Akira was used to he and Shindou tearing apart each other's games, but he'd never honestly expected Shindou to start on his clothes.

"Seriously, Touya, that blue suit makes you look like a salaryman."

"Supposing it did, why is this your business?"

Shindou put his hands on his hips. "You're a pro; you should look like it. Ogata-sensei has style. Even your dad has style. I can't have my rival looking like he doesn't know how to dress."

Akira was starting to get more indignant than startled. "As if you have any room to talk, when you show up to your matches in tee-shirts!"

"Hey, these have a lot of style!"

Akira settled back, a bit smug. "Even if they do, what makes you think you can pick out good styles in formal clothing?"

Shindou glared. "I bet I could."

"You never have before."

"I could!"

"Prove it!" They were nose to nose now, leaning over the table.

"Fine!"

As Shindou stomped out of the salon, growling, and Akira stalked after him, he heard Ichikawa-san sigh, "I'd thought they'd grown out of that."

He couldn't imagine why she would think that; not as long as Shindou was Shindou.

Akira waved a hand at the racks of sober suits. "So. Go ahead and try. Find something stylish." He said the last word as if it had been dipped in a sauce he didn't like.

Shindou snorted. "Easiest thing ever." He made for the nearest rack and started paging quickly through the jackets. Akira wasn't surprised when a clerk approached them; he'd have wanted to protect the merchandise from Shindou, too.

"Can I help you sirs?"

"Ah, we're just..." Akira started, only to be interrupted by a jacket landing half on top of the clerk.

"Yeah, take that. Oh, and this one, and these slacks." Two more items were tossed over the clerk's arm. "Take those to a changing room, would you? Thanks."

Akira and the clerk both stared, startled, as Shindou trotted to the next rack. He paused and looked back.

"Well? What are you waiting for, Touya? Go try them on."

"If you would, please," Akira murmured, a bit dazed, to the clerk, watching Shindou efficiently ransacking a shelf of shirts.

Akira stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the cuffs of a shirt. "Black suit, white shirt... Shindou, I look like I'm going to a funeral!"

"Ah, that's just to start with. Here, try this tie."

Akira gave the tie in question a resigned look and knotted it swiftly. Shindou squinted at the result and made thoughtful noises. "Nah, wrong jacket, that's what it is. Try the shorter one. And the gray shirt."

"All black?"

"Why not? Ogata-sensei wears all white."

"That's Ogata-sensei! He's... he's taller."

"What? I bet you'd look good in all white, too. Hang on!"

Akira rubbed his forehead as Shindou made for the racks again.

"Oh, yeah, there we go!"

Akira frowned. "Shindou, this is getting awfully informal."

"No it isn't. It's style, I told you. You definitely want a band-collar shirt. It's perfect."

"So now I'm going to a casual funeral," Akira said dryly, examining his black pants and jacket.

"Not with a blue shirt you're not. Trust me."

Akira shot his friend a dire look. "If you make me into a laughingstock at official matches, I will hunt you down."

Shindou sighed excessively and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Touya, you'll look good. And you need every edge you can get against people like Ogata-sensei, right? This is one you can use. So use it!" He grumbled under his breath, "Ogata-sensei sure does."

Perversely, that made Akira feel better.

"All right, fine. I'll get this and a couple of shirts. Happy?"

"Sure!" Shindou straightened, grinning. "Now we just need to hit the casual section to get some tee-shirts. And turtlenecks maybe. And jeans, Touya, you really need to have some jeans. You look like a banker, even when you're not in that suit."

Akira thought wistfully, as he was towed to the next department, of the days when he and Shindou had fought every time they met. It had been so much simpler.

"Dark gray denim, perfect! Try these on, Touya."

So very much simpler.

End

Stones In the Road

Go is everything to Ogata, including sex. This can present some difficulties, considering his best opponents. Porn, Humor, Character Study, I-3

Ogata Seiji had once been informed that it was entirely normal for people to have sexual fantasies that had nothing to do with the person or things they actually desired. Admittedly, the person who told him this had been trying to explain away why she'd called someone else's name in bed with him, but he thought it was true enough. He did not, after all, have the slightest desire to actually take most of his go opponents to bed, and yet the one thing that would reliably get him off was remembering a heated game. The click of stones onto the board, so faint and so intense when a decisive move was made; the line of smooth white or black, curling around space itself, so subtly that the opponent should not even notice until it was too late; the sudden stillness of an opponent's fingers on their stones when they did see; those were the things he thought of that made him purr into a lover's ear so promisingly that most of them seemed surprised to be tossed out the next morning as soon as he needed to study.

Those were the things he thought of when he was alone, too, spreading his legs and leaning back against the cool softness of hotel sheets, fingers wrapped around his cock. He closed his eyes, stroking slow and firm, and remembered today's game. The cut he'd waited eight turns to make, lulling the opponent into thinking he'd missed the possibility. The attack he'd made during the endgame, right when his opponent had thought he had the upper corner all wrapped up, oh yes. Seiji tipped his head back against the give of the pillows, panting as heat curled slow and heavy in his stomach, fingers working harder. The fury in the click of the next stone, mmmm yes. The narrowing of his opponent's eyes...

An image of Kuwabara's evil old eyes, narrowed amid their wrinkles and bags flashed into his mind. Seiji choked, eyes flying open, and snatched his hand off his cock. He felt like he'd run into a brick wall and been doused with freezing water into the bargain.

Seiji rolled over as his erection wilted, and groaned into the pillows. Damn it, damn it, damn it. That picture was a more effective libido-killer than anything, up to and including being laughed at. He sighed, muffled; really, he should probably know better than to use his games with Kuwabara for this. It was too easy to slip, and there went his evening's pleasure.

But they were the best games.

He couldn't help laughing at himself a little, because he could see the humor in his dilemma, and rolled back over to stare up at the ceiling, smiling faintly. All right, so today's game was off limits. Shame, that, it had been a good one. Perhaps all wasn't entirely lost for the evening, though. Opponents came and went, but go itself never abandoned him. If he just thought of the board, still and golden with all the possible moves hidden in its simple lines. Of the stones, cool to his touch and silky smooth, weighing so little to carry all the force they did.

Mmm, yes, that was better.

Seiji fixed his mind on the flow of smooth stones through his fingers and stroked his cock slow and hard, smiling with closed eyes.

End