Hikaru No Go Fic: Desynchronization Epilogue, Drabble (NSFW)
Title: Hairdryer
Main Characters: Ogata & Sai
Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the creation of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata. Not mine, I'm just borrowing the sandbox for a bit. I'll try to play nice. :)
Spoilers: For the entire series.
Warnings: Ages 18+ (or whatever is considered the age of majority in your own country). NSFW. Consensual sexual situations between adults; some language thanks to Ogata's mouth.
Word Count: 4,000.
Notes: This can be considered an epilogue to the desynchronization universe, although not the only one, since I know many of you want to see more Akira and Hikaru! Master Fic List, scroll down to the Sai&Hikaru banner for the previous chapters.
Much thanks to my betas, aiwritingfic and penguin474. Beta love, everyone!
* * *
8:30 a.m.
With a groan of protest, Ogata pushed the bed covers back sluggishly and rolled into a sitting position. He glared at the alarm clock, wondering what had possessed him to set it for such an unholy hour. Did he have an appointment scheduled? His friends all knew that Ogata Seiji was not a morning person. (Ashiwara had discovered this fact the hard way, but Ogata maintained that no sane person would ever try to serenade someone awake with a cheesy enka song).
Blearily, Ogata rubbed at his eyes, then grabbed his glasses off the nightstand before shuffling off towards the bathroom. He scrubbed at his face with a washcloth, then brushed his teeth mechanically, noting that the air in the bathroom was damp. So Fujiwara must have already gotten up and taken a shower, Ogata realized. He was probably off gallivanting with Shindou somewhere. The thought made Ogata scowl and dribble toothpaste on his chin in the process.
Ever since their reconciliation, Fujiwara had been spending most of his time with Shindou - not Ogata. Shindou had taken it rather hard that Fujiwara had moved back in with Ogata, so Fujiwara was probably trying to assuage Shindou's wounded feelings. Shindou blamed Ogata, of course, believing that he had manipulated Fujiwara into returning.
Not that Ogata had actually spoken with Shindou -- not since the day that Shindou had coolly informed Ogata that he hated him -- but Ogata had been able to piece together the picture from Fujiwara's gentle omissions and vagueness whenever Shindou came up in conversation. Then at the Go Institute, Akira had let it slip that Shindou had been hoping to get an apartment with Fujiwara after his upcoming dan promotion and pay raise.
Ogata ran a brush through his hair with quick, efficient strokes, not bothering to style it.
It was irritating to realize that Fujiwara was spending a significant amount of time with someone who'd be positively thrilled if Ogata were to suddenly, say, get hit by an express bus or drop dead from rapid onset Stage IV lung cancer. Regardless, Ogata couldn't quite begrudge Shindou Fujiwara's company, not even privately. Since he finally knew the truth about Shindou's bond with Fujiwara, Ogata understood why Shindou was reacting so strongly. It was as if Shindou had just been reunited with a beloved, long-lost brother, only to discover that he was having to compete with a loathsome rival for that brother's affections.
Ogata empathized with Shindou (well, except for the loathsome part), but that didn't prevent Ogata from feeling frustrated about the situation. He just wanted a little quality time with Fujiwara himself; specifically, time when Fujiwara wasn't fretting about Shindou. Fujiwara was still warm and pleasant, but lately he'd seemed distracted whenever they were together, and his smiles were strained, as if he were preoccupied. Which was hardly the ideal opportunity for Ogata to broach the subject of their new relationship, and what exactly it meant.
Experience told Ogata that he probably just needed to give Fujiwara some time to adjust, but he couldn't help thinking of that electric moment they'd shared in the park, and how he really wanted to kiss Fujiwara again, and then preferably fuck him into the mattress. Or the wall, or the couch, or the kitchen floor. Ogata wasn't going to be picky. Now if only he could figure a way to bring up that little matter without seeming completely self-centered.
Ogata glanced at the mirror apathetically, deciding that he looked halfway presentable. He started towards the kitchen, intent on pumping as much caffeine into his system as possible. Maybe after two cups or so his brain would wake up, and then he'd remember what was important enough for him to have intentionally set his alarm clock for an evilly early hour.
The sight of Fujiwara sitting on the living room couch, hair wrapped up in thick bath towels, stopped Ogata dead in his tracks.
Fujiwara didn't notice Ogata, his attention devoted completely to the hairdryer in his hands. He was poking at it cautiously, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.
Ogata stifled a laugh at the familiar expression. Fujiwara still hadn't quite mastered modern technology, but he had learned that if he fiddled with the buttons on anything long enough, something was bound to happen. Not necessarily a good something, however (Ogata supposed it was a testament to Fujiwara's innate curiosity - or stubbornness -- that he hadn't sworn off gadgetry altogether after the infamous Exploding Microwave Incident).
“Having a bit of trouble?” Ogata said.
“Oh, good morning, Ogata-sensei,” Fujiwara said, looking up with a bright smile. Then he pointed to the hairdryer with an affronted pout, as if the appliance had personally insulted him. “Yes, I am. It's only blowing out cold air, and I washed all of my hair today.”
Ogata nodded, recalling that Fujiwara had once mentioned that he didn't actually wash all his hair everyday, just the hair above his shoulders - washing all of his hip-length hair everyday would be far too time-consuming. “Want me to take a look at it?” Ogata offered.
Fujiwara nodded eagerly, and scooted over on the couch to make room for Ogata.
Ogata sat down automatically, only registering after the fact that Fujiwara was wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. A flush spread across Ogata's body and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping that his cheeks didn't look as red as they felt.
Fujiwara handed the offending item over to Ogata. “You're up early. I hope I didn't wake you,” he said. “That's why I was trying to dry my hair in here instead of the bathroom.”
“No, you didn't. I had set my alarm,” Ogata said. He peered through the grill of the hairdryer, grateful for the temporary distraction from Fujiwara's more-or-less naked body. The only time Ogata recalled having trouble with a hairdryer was when hair got wrapped around the coil or fan, but he didn't see any hair stuck inside, and there was no horrible stench of burning hair, either. He toggled the on-and-off switch a few times, adjusting the settings as well, but the hairdryer remained silent.
“Well, the only other problem I can think of is that the wall outlet isn't working, but the lamp is plugged into the same outlet, and it's working fine.” Ogata grinned. “I guess you just killed it from overwork, you cruel taskmaster.”
Fujiwara's lower lip jutted out. “Meanie! I did not... At least, I don't think I did... ” He sighed dramatically. “I'm going to have to hand dry it all. It's too cold to let it air dry.”
“I could help you,” Ogata heard himself offering nonchalantly, his mouth apparently working independently from his brain. Had he actually just volunteered to...?
“Oh, would you? That would be nice, if you have the time.” Fujiwara gave him a sideways look from under his lashes, and Ogata's pulse started to pound.
“Yes, just undo your hair, and drape it over the couch,” Ogata replied, his voice sounding surprisingly steady to his own ears. “It will be easier for me to reach it all that way.”
Fujiwara nodded, unwinding the towels from his hair while Ogata walked around behind the couch. Ogata took one of the towels, and started rubbing gently at Fujiwara's scalp. He let out a small breath of relief, glad that Fujiwara couldn't see him now. Ogata had always found something unexpectedly intimate in the act of touching someone's hair, or having his own hair touched, especially if it involved hair care. Perhaps it was the vulnerability involved, Ogata mused as he carefully rubbed at the hair on Fujiwara's nape. After all, if you let someone groom your hair, you were trusting that person to essentially stand behind you - possibly with sharp instruments if you were getting a haircut - with your most vulnerable parts exposed.
Of course, he'd always had a thing for long hair, too. Most of his girlfriends had worn their hair long. Short hair could be attractive too, but longer hair meant more to touch (and Ogata had always tended to be greedy; more was definitely better in his world view). None of his girlfriends had possessed hair as long as Fujiwara, of course. Ogata wondered if Fujiwara had ever worn his hair short. He doubted it, considering the length of Fujiwara's hair and how slowly hair grew.
Ogata moved onto the hair below Fujiwara's shoulders. Indulgently, Ogata allowed himself to run his fingers through the handful of hair he was drying. It felt like wet silk against his skin. Ogata pondered how it would feel against his lips.
“Gently, please.”
Ogata started in surprise, his reverie broken.
“It tangles easily,” Fujiwara murmured, and Ogata smirked at both Fujiwara's sleepy tone and his admonishment. Fujiwara was rather vain about his hair, judging from the impressive collection of hair products he'd amassed in the bathroom. Ogata was somewhat mystified and intrigued by the brightly colored bottles and tubes; his own personal hair regime consisted mainly of a bimonthly visit to an expensive, prissy hairdresser. (Ogata did not dye his hair, despite that persistent, lingering rumor at the Go Association.)
Fujiwara's head was starting to loll to the side, and Ogata knew that the other man's eyes were closed. That display of trust emboldened Ogata, and he found himself leaning down to whisper in Fujiwara's ear: “Want me to give you a massage?”
“A... massage?” Fujiwara's voice, heavy with drowsiness, floated up. “Why?”
Ogata continued rubbing at Fujiwara's hair. “It's customary in hair salons to help the customer relax. It releases tension in the neck and shoulders. I always think it feels pretty good myself.”
“Oh... then, yes, please.”
Ogata let the towel drop to the ground, then he meticulously parted Fujiwara's hair down the middle, half to drape over each shoulder. Ogata paused, admiring the pale, graceful arch of neck, framed by jet-black hair. He was unable to suppress a shiver of anticipation from tingling down his spine. He'd never seen Fujiwara's neck exposed, and he'd certainly never had the opportunity to touch all that concealed skin freely. Not that Ogata hadn't done far more intimate things with people he'd known as half as well as Fujiwara; but then, he'd never denied himself like this before, suppressing his desires when he wanted, delaying instead of pursuing.
But the best-savored wine was the one you'd had to wait for, wasn't it? He began to rub gentle circles into Fujiwara's neck, using only the pads of his fingers and thumbs so he wouldn't exert too much pressure on the sensitive tendons and nerves. Occasionally he brushed his fingers across the skin in a lingering caress, but Fujiwara never stirred.
Ogata stopped, listening to Fujiwara's even breathing and confirming his suspicion that Fujiwara had indeed fallen asleep. Ogata smirked. Well now, that certainly wouldn't do. He'd just have to rouse him, somehow.
Very lightly, Ogata brushed his lips against Fujiwara's neck. When there was no response, Ogata took that as a green light to trail a smattering of dry kisses from Fujiwara's hairline all the way to the collar of his bathrobe.
“Ogata-sensei, that's not a massage,” Fujiwara said, his voice more breathy than reprimanding.
Ogata grinned. “No, but it's against the rules to fall asleep during a massage, so I thought I'd wake you up. Isn't that a considerate way to get woken up?”
Fujiwara harumped as if he were miffed, but Ogata knew Fujiwara had liked it since he wasn't pulling away.
“I'll rub your shoulders now, but I'll need you to take your bathrobe off.”
Half-turning, Fujiwara arched an eyebrow at Ogata. “Is that part of the 'rules' as well?”
“Off your shoulders,” Ogata clarified, keeping his tone blandly innocent, resisting the urge to needle Fujiwara further and provoke the puckered, indignant schoolmistress face. (As fond as Ogata was of that face, flustering Fujiwara wasn't his aim.) “The fabric's too thick for a rub.”
Fujiwara said nothing, but settled back to his original position.
There was a pause - not a particularly long one - but Ogata couldn't help thinking that he'd moved too fast and ruined the moment. Perhaps he'd misread the situation entirely, projecting his own desires onto Fujiwara.
But Fujiwara tugged the collar of his robe open, sliding the material over his left shoulder first, next his right. Then, with an air of expectancy, he folded his hands in his lap, and Ogata's breath hitched at the utter perfectness of that gesture, the implicit trust.
And that beauty. God, it made his teeth ache a bit, the combination of flawless skin and lean muscle and fine bones, and he'd been wanting this for such a long time... His pulse loud in his own ears, Ogata began to knead gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder, mildly surprised at the latent strength he could feel in the wiry muscles. That wasn't a physique that one developed from playing go; on the contrary, the go lifestyle was a sedentary, stressful one that tended to take a toll on players' bodies, especially with the abundance of rich food and travel and yes, the smoking. (Ogata consciously made the effort to work out for a few hours in the gym each week, spurred on by the specter of some of his more portly seniors).
“Did you play a sport?” Ogata asked, keeping the rubbing to a delicate rhythm as he leisurely worked his way towards Fujiwara's shoulders, relishing the feel of muscle under that soft skin.
“Ah, I've been meaning to ask Hikaru,” Fujiwara said. “I have calluses on my palms that I know didn't come from go or my instruments.”
Ogata frowned. He hadn't realized that there were still things that Fujiwara hadn't remembered about his past, but perhaps that wasn't unexpected, considering the sheer number of years Fujiwara had existed. He probably had a lot of memories to shift through, compared to the average person. But they could discuss that later.
Ogata started the massage over, increasing the pressure gradually, and Fujiwara sighed in contentment, arching his neck. “That's nice.”
A mixture of pride and lust swelled in Ogata's chest. He'd always been good with his hands. “Harder?” he said, fully cognizant of how deliciously suggestive the question was.
“Please.”
Ogata rubbed harder, using his thumbs as leverage to press in deep, and Fujiwara started to make whimpering noises that were really quite inconsiderate to Ogata -- inconsiderate since he was on the other side of the couch. Then Fujiwara moaned, a lovely sound that went straight to Ogata's groin, and his vision flashed white-hot with desire.
Ogata found himself pressing his lips against Fujiwara's bared skin, his whole body vibrating with adrenaline, breaths coming quickly. “May I?” Ogata said, unable to keep the sheer need out of his voice, or even clarify what exactly he wanted permission for.
Ogata felt Fujiwara tremble under his lips, and realized that Fujiwara was breathing just as hard.
“Yes. I... I want you to touch me. Please.”
Aroused even further by the answer, Ogata eagerly fell to his task, sucking wet kisses onto the base of Fujiwara's neck, continuing to stroke and rub Fujiwara's shoulders. Next he followed the path of Fujiwara's backbone with his mouth, his senses pleasantly overloaded with the scent of Fujiwara's recently showered skin, and the feel and sound of lips sliding across damp, silky skin.
Ogata let his teeth graze against Fujiwara's backbone, and Fujiwara moaned again, arching his back.
“Ogata-sensei,” he protested. “No fair.”
“Hmm?” Ogata murmured, preoccupied with sucking hard on a spot he'd taken a liking to. There was definitely going to be a nice mark there. He hoped Fujiwara would appreciate it.
Fujiwara pulled away abruptly, and Ogata blinked, startled at the sudden shift and loss of warmth. But Fujiwara turned around completely, kneeling on the couch as he fixed Ogata with an intense gaze, violet eyes piercing. Then he reached for Ogata, wrapping his hands around Ogata's neck and head.
Ogata leaned down into the embrace, propping his hands against the back of the couch for balance as Fujiwara claimed his mouth with a satisfyingly deep kiss. Then Fujiwara started to nip at his lips tenderly, stroking the nape of his neck with long, skillful fingers, and Ogata hummed with pleasure in the back of his throat.
“I think... you should come... over here,” Fujiwara said between nips.
“I have a better idea. Let's go to my bedroom,” Ogata said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. (By god, he was not going to start grinding into the couch like a horny teenager.) The couch wasn't adequate enough space for the two of them, although if Fujiwara insisted, Ogata would make it work.
“Oh... alright.”
Ogata stepped out of the embrace, and tried not to smirk at the sight of Fujiwara blushing, his eyes averted sideways as if he'd suddenly grown shy at the thought of going into Ogata's bedroom, although he'd been perfectly content with allowing Ogata to molest him for the last fifteen minutes or so. Ogata came around the couch and planted a kiss on Fujiwara's forehead, then slipped his fingers into Fujiwara's.
Fujiwara smiled, and let himself be led down the hallway and then pulled down beside Ogata onto the large bed.
“You didn't make your bed,” Fujiwara observed, sounding amused as he looked around the rest of the neatly organized room, and Ogata realized that Fujiwara had probably never been inside before.
“I know, and I haven't even changed out of my bed clothes yet. I hope you can forgive my appalling messiness,” Ogata said wryly, then he initiated a second kiss by slipping his tongue inside Fujiwara's mouth, enjoying the velvety warmth and the sensual little noises Fujiwara was making. His hands wandered to Fujiwara's waist and the bathrobe's tie. A few tugs, and the tie came undone. Ogata slid the robe off Fujiwara, letting it pool around his slender hips.
Ogata broke away from the kiss to drink in the sight of Fujiwara's nude body, admiring the porcelain skin, completely pale except for his little pink nipples, and the dark patch of hair leading to his cock, which looked about as hard as Ogata's. Ogata felt his heart thud loudly against his ribcage.
Fujiwara flushed again as Ogata looked him up and down, pursing his lips into a pout. “No fair,” he said again. “You're still dressed.”
“You can remedy that,” Ogata said.
Fujiwara took the hint, and gripped at the hem of Ogata's top, sliding it over his head easily. Then he tugged at the waistband of Ogata's pant bottoms, managing to slide them down as far as Ogata's hipbones.
Ogata laughed at the look of frustration on Fujiwara's face, and stood up, quickly ridding himself of his boxers and pant bottoms.
Fujiwara was now the one staring, his eyes glittering with appreciation and lust, and Ogata felt his erection stiffening even more, hard to almost the point of pain.
Fujiwara lay down on the bed, and then curled his fingers around Ogata's wrist. He tugged Ogata towards himself, and Ogata was only too happy to oblige, letting himself be pulled down on top of Fujiwara. He gasped reflexively at the sudden sensation of full skin-on-skin contact and the feel of his erection rubbing against Fujiwara's.
Ogata had to use both of his hands to brace himself over Fujiwara, but his mouth was free to trace the outline of Fujiwara's jawline while Fujiwara ran his hands over Ogata's body, exploring his arms and chest and back. One of Fujiwara's hands squeezed his ass, and Ogata moaned, thrusting down hard against Fujiwara's cock.
Whimpering, Fujiwara stirred restlessly under Ogata, and he arched up, trying to thrust back against Ogata, but the friction wasn't satisfying enough for either of them.
Ogata moved over to Fujiwara's left, then rolled onto his side, aligning his body to Fujiwara's. Fujiwara smiled in realization, and rolled onto his side as well, pressing his body against Ogata's, his eyes fluttering shut as their erections touched again. Ogata wrapped his right hand around both their cocks and began to stroke with a slow, strong rhythm, his own eyes shutting as pleasure flooded his body.
As Ogata increased the pace, he became aware that Fujiwara's fingernails were digging into his back. But the pain was oddly pleasurable since he liked having Fujiwara cling to him, liked knowing that he was doing this to Fujiwara, with Fujiwara.
Ogata forced his eyes open just in time to watch Fujiwara as orgasm overtook him, damp hair sticking to his flushed face, lips parted as he moaned and arched.
You're so beautiful, was Ogata's last thought as his own orgasm claimed him, and he shuddered violently as he came, mind blacking out awareness of everything except for sheer, explosive pleasure.
Some time later, Ogata gradually became aware of the sounds of his own heavy breathing -- and gentle fingers combing through his hair. He opened his eyes to see Fujiwara propped up on his hand, smiling at him indulgently, his pale skin still flushed.
“I hope you didn't hurt yourself,” Fujiwara said teasingly. “You are a bit older than I am, aren't you?”
Ogata arched an eyebrow. “Says the thousand-year-old ghost. You're practically a cradle-robber, you know. I ought to warn the authorities about you and your roving eye.”
Fujiwara made an exaggerated expression of affront. “Are you calling me old, Ogata-sensei?”
“Old only in spirit,” Ogata said with a leer, placing a hand on Fujiwara's hip. “And you're going to have to start calling me 'Seiji' now.”
Fujiwara tested the name in his mouth. “Seiji... Seiji-san. Seiji-sensei? It seems odd. Why can't I just keep calling you 'Ogata'?”
“Just 'Seiji.' And nowadays, it's... customary to be on a first name basis with someone after you sleep together. At least in private. You'll have time to get used to it,” Ogata said, and placed a kiss on Fujiwara's lips, feeling a sense of deep contentment and rightness as he lay next to Fujiwara. They still had a few issues to resolve, yet Ogata knew that everything would work out, one way or another.
But as for now... there was a mess all over the bedsheets and their stomachs. Ogata sighed and rubbed Fujiwara's hip. He really didn't want to leave the comfort of the bed or Fujiwara, but the mess would be harder to clean when it dried.
Then a rather pleasant resolution occurred to Ogata.
“How would you like to learn about another modern post-coital custom, Sai?”
Fujiwara tilted his head, immediately attentive.
“It's called 'Taking a shower together.' ”
--The End.
* * *
Random Smut Drabble... From the Future!! (That is, at some point after the above “first time sex” piece.)
There it was again. There was absolutely no mistaking it this time.
Ogata halted his preparations and narrowed his eyes at the naked man sprawled on his bedsheets. Looking damned fine on his bedsheets, granted, but Ogata wasn't going to take that kind of behavior from any partner, no matter how attractive. "You giggled at me."
Fujiwara looked at him from under his long eyelashes in an attempt to look guileless, but the attempt was wholly ruined by another giggle. "I'm sorry, Seiji, but I can't help it! You look so serious. You've even got that little furrow between your eyebrows."
Ogata raised his eyebrows, feeling rather perplexed. "What's odd about that? Sex is serious. If you're not careful, someone can get hurt."
Fujiwara patted him on the wrist consolingly. "It's just that... that's the exact same look... you get... when you're trying to figure out a way to steal... territory!" he managed to get out before he burst into another fit of giggles.
Ogata fingered his chin, pondering this new information. At least the idiot wasn't laughing about something actually embarrassing... Then he allowed himself a grin he knew was particularly wicked, and bent over to bite and kiss at Fujiwara's neck, abandoning his preparations.
"Mmm, this is nice, but aren't you going to... finish?" Fujiwara said breathlessly after Ogata had been molesting his neck for several long moments.
Ogata paused to grin against the warm skin under his lips. "Perhaps I've decided to gain 'territory' elsewhere for now. You'll just have to wait a few more hands to find out." Fujiwara whimpered in protest then, and Ogata laughed quietly. It was Fujiwara's fault for bringing go analogies into the bedroom, but that didn't mean Ogata couldn't have fun with them.
--The End.
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Author's Notes:
Getting a shoulder massage at the hairdresser's is actually customary in Japan, although being punished with kisses for falling asleep is not, unfortunately. Hahah.
I hope that y'all enjoyed my addition to the desynch universe... I meant to get something out sooner (I finished the main story in November) but it's hard for me to find the energy to write when I come home from work (waiting tables is actually pretty tiring). Well, at least I won't be doing it for much longer.
I view Ogata and Sai's relationship as being a pretty fun and healthy one, when they're not clashing on a key issue (they are both stubborn about certain things). I think Sai brings out Ogata's playful side.
Comments and criticism are welcomed as always. Thanks for reading!
Main Characters: Ogata & Sai
Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the creation of Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata. Not mine, I'm just borrowing the sandbox for a bit. I'll try to play nice. :)
Spoilers: For the entire series.
Warnings: Ages 18+ (or whatever is considered the age of majority in your own country). NSFW. Consensual sexual situations between adults; some language thanks to Ogata's mouth.
Word Count: 4,000.
Notes: This can be considered an epilogue to the desynchronization universe, although not the only one, since I know many of you want to see more Akira and Hikaru! Master Fic List, scroll down to the Sai&Hikaru banner for the previous chapters.
Much thanks to my betas, aiwritingfic and penguin474. Beta love, everyone!
* * *
8:30 a.m.
With a groan of protest, Ogata pushed the bed covers back sluggishly and rolled into a sitting position. He glared at the alarm clock, wondering what had possessed him to set it for such an unholy hour. Did he have an appointment scheduled? His friends all knew that Ogata Seiji was not a morning person. (Ashiwara had discovered this fact the hard way, but Ogata maintained that no sane person would ever try to serenade someone awake with a cheesy enka song).
Blearily, Ogata rubbed at his eyes, then grabbed his glasses off the nightstand before shuffling off towards the bathroom. He scrubbed at his face with a washcloth, then brushed his teeth mechanically, noting that the air in the bathroom was damp. So Fujiwara must have already gotten up and taken a shower, Ogata realized. He was probably off gallivanting with Shindou somewhere. The thought made Ogata scowl and dribble toothpaste on his chin in the process.
Ever since their reconciliation, Fujiwara had been spending most of his time with Shindou - not Ogata. Shindou had taken it rather hard that Fujiwara had moved back in with Ogata, so Fujiwara was probably trying to assuage Shindou's wounded feelings. Shindou blamed Ogata, of course, believing that he had manipulated Fujiwara into returning.
Not that Ogata had actually spoken with Shindou -- not since the day that Shindou had coolly informed Ogata that he hated him -- but Ogata had been able to piece together the picture from Fujiwara's gentle omissions and vagueness whenever Shindou came up in conversation. Then at the Go Institute, Akira had let it slip that Shindou had been hoping to get an apartment with Fujiwara after his upcoming dan promotion and pay raise.
Ogata ran a brush through his hair with quick, efficient strokes, not bothering to style it.
It was irritating to realize that Fujiwara was spending a significant amount of time with someone who'd be positively thrilled if Ogata were to suddenly, say, get hit by an express bus or drop dead from rapid onset Stage IV lung cancer. Regardless, Ogata couldn't quite begrudge Shindou Fujiwara's company, not even privately. Since he finally knew the truth about Shindou's bond with Fujiwara, Ogata understood why Shindou was reacting so strongly. It was as if Shindou had just been reunited with a beloved, long-lost brother, only to discover that he was having to compete with a loathsome rival for that brother's affections.
Ogata empathized with Shindou (well, except for the loathsome part), but that didn't prevent Ogata from feeling frustrated about the situation. He just wanted a little quality time with Fujiwara himself; specifically, time when Fujiwara wasn't fretting about Shindou. Fujiwara was still warm and pleasant, but lately he'd seemed distracted whenever they were together, and his smiles were strained, as if he were preoccupied. Which was hardly the ideal opportunity for Ogata to broach the subject of their new relationship, and what exactly it meant.
Experience told Ogata that he probably just needed to give Fujiwara some time to adjust, but he couldn't help thinking of that electric moment they'd shared in the park, and how he really wanted to kiss Fujiwara again, and then preferably fuck him into the mattress. Or the wall, or the couch, or the kitchen floor. Ogata wasn't going to be picky. Now if only he could figure a way to bring up that little matter without seeming completely self-centered.
Ogata glanced at the mirror apathetically, deciding that he looked halfway presentable. He started towards the kitchen, intent on pumping as much caffeine into his system as possible. Maybe after two cups or so his brain would wake up, and then he'd remember what was important enough for him to have intentionally set his alarm clock for an evilly early hour.
The sight of Fujiwara sitting on the living room couch, hair wrapped up in thick bath towels, stopped Ogata dead in his tracks.
Fujiwara didn't notice Ogata, his attention devoted completely to the hairdryer in his hands. He was poking at it cautiously, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.
Ogata stifled a laugh at the familiar expression. Fujiwara still hadn't quite mastered modern technology, but he had learned that if he fiddled with the buttons on anything long enough, something was bound to happen. Not necessarily a good something, however (Ogata supposed it was a testament to Fujiwara's innate curiosity - or stubbornness -- that he hadn't sworn off gadgetry altogether after the infamous Exploding Microwave Incident).
“Having a bit of trouble?” Ogata said.
“Oh, good morning, Ogata-sensei,” Fujiwara said, looking up with a bright smile. Then he pointed to the hairdryer with an affronted pout, as if the appliance had personally insulted him. “Yes, I am. It's only blowing out cold air, and I washed all of my hair today.”
Ogata nodded, recalling that Fujiwara had once mentioned that he didn't actually wash all his hair everyday, just the hair above his shoulders - washing all of his hip-length hair everyday would be far too time-consuming. “Want me to take a look at it?” Ogata offered.
Fujiwara nodded eagerly, and scooted over on the couch to make room for Ogata.
Ogata sat down automatically, only registering after the fact that Fujiwara was wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. A flush spread across Ogata's body and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping that his cheeks didn't look as red as they felt.
Fujiwara handed the offending item over to Ogata. “You're up early. I hope I didn't wake you,” he said. “That's why I was trying to dry my hair in here instead of the bathroom.”
“No, you didn't. I had set my alarm,” Ogata said. He peered through the grill of the hairdryer, grateful for the temporary distraction from Fujiwara's more-or-less naked body. The only time Ogata recalled having trouble with a hairdryer was when hair got wrapped around the coil or fan, but he didn't see any hair stuck inside, and there was no horrible stench of burning hair, either. He toggled the on-and-off switch a few times, adjusting the settings as well, but the hairdryer remained silent.
“Well, the only other problem I can think of is that the wall outlet isn't working, but the lamp is plugged into the same outlet, and it's working fine.” Ogata grinned. “I guess you just killed it from overwork, you cruel taskmaster.”
Fujiwara's lower lip jutted out. “Meanie! I did not... At least, I don't think I did... ” He sighed dramatically. “I'm going to have to hand dry it all. It's too cold to let it air dry.”
“I could help you,” Ogata heard himself offering nonchalantly, his mouth apparently working independently from his brain. Had he actually just volunteered to...?
“Oh, would you? That would be nice, if you have the time.” Fujiwara gave him a sideways look from under his lashes, and Ogata's pulse started to pound.
“Yes, just undo your hair, and drape it over the couch,” Ogata replied, his voice sounding surprisingly steady to his own ears. “It will be easier for me to reach it all that way.”
Fujiwara nodded, unwinding the towels from his hair while Ogata walked around behind the couch. Ogata took one of the towels, and started rubbing gently at Fujiwara's scalp. He let out a small breath of relief, glad that Fujiwara couldn't see him now. Ogata had always found something unexpectedly intimate in the act of touching someone's hair, or having his own hair touched, especially if it involved hair care. Perhaps it was the vulnerability involved, Ogata mused as he carefully rubbed at the hair on Fujiwara's nape. After all, if you let someone groom your hair, you were trusting that person to essentially stand behind you - possibly with sharp instruments if you were getting a haircut - with your most vulnerable parts exposed.
Of course, he'd always had a thing for long hair, too. Most of his girlfriends had worn their hair long. Short hair could be attractive too, but longer hair meant more to touch (and Ogata had always tended to be greedy; more was definitely better in his world view). None of his girlfriends had possessed hair as long as Fujiwara, of course. Ogata wondered if Fujiwara had ever worn his hair short. He doubted it, considering the length of Fujiwara's hair and how slowly hair grew.
Ogata moved onto the hair below Fujiwara's shoulders. Indulgently, Ogata allowed himself to run his fingers through the handful of hair he was drying. It felt like wet silk against his skin. Ogata pondered how it would feel against his lips.
“Gently, please.”
Ogata started in surprise, his reverie broken.
“It tangles easily,” Fujiwara murmured, and Ogata smirked at both Fujiwara's sleepy tone and his admonishment. Fujiwara was rather vain about his hair, judging from the impressive collection of hair products he'd amassed in the bathroom. Ogata was somewhat mystified and intrigued by the brightly colored bottles and tubes; his own personal hair regime consisted mainly of a bimonthly visit to an expensive, prissy hairdresser. (Ogata did not dye his hair, despite that persistent, lingering rumor at the Go Association.)
Fujiwara's head was starting to loll to the side, and Ogata knew that the other man's eyes were closed. That display of trust emboldened Ogata, and he found himself leaning down to whisper in Fujiwara's ear: “Want me to give you a massage?”
“A... massage?” Fujiwara's voice, heavy with drowsiness, floated up. “Why?”
Ogata continued rubbing at Fujiwara's hair. “It's customary in hair salons to help the customer relax. It releases tension in the neck and shoulders. I always think it feels pretty good myself.”
“Oh... then, yes, please.”
Ogata let the towel drop to the ground, then he meticulously parted Fujiwara's hair down the middle, half to drape over each shoulder. Ogata paused, admiring the pale, graceful arch of neck, framed by jet-black hair. He was unable to suppress a shiver of anticipation from tingling down his spine. He'd never seen Fujiwara's neck exposed, and he'd certainly never had the opportunity to touch all that concealed skin freely. Not that Ogata hadn't done far more intimate things with people he'd known as half as well as Fujiwara; but then, he'd never denied himself like this before, suppressing his desires when he wanted, delaying instead of pursuing.
But the best-savored wine was the one you'd had to wait for, wasn't it? He began to rub gentle circles into Fujiwara's neck, using only the pads of his fingers and thumbs so he wouldn't exert too much pressure on the sensitive tendons and nerves. Occasionally he brushed his fingers across the skin in a lingering caress, but Fujiwara never stirred.
Ogata stopped, listening to Fujiwara's even breathing and confirming his suspicion that Fujiwara had indeed fallen asleep. Ogata smirked. Well now, that certainly wouldn't do. He'd just have to rouse him, somehow.
Very lightly, Ogata brushed his lips against Fujiwara's neck. When there was no response, Ogata took that as a green light to trail a smattering of dry kisses from Fujiwara's hairline all the way to the collar of his bathrobe.
“Ogata-sensei, that's not a massage,” Fujiwara said, his voice more breathy than reprimanding.
Ogata grinned. “No, but it's against the rules to fall asleep during a massage, so I thought I'd wake you up. Isn't that a considerate way to get woken up?”
Fujiwara harumped as if he were miffed, but Ogata knew Fujiwara had liked it since he wasn't pulling away.
“I'll rub your shoulders now, but I'll need you to take your bathrobe off.”
Half-turning, Fujiwara arched an eyebrow at Ogata. “Is that part of the 'rules' as well?”
“Off your shoulders,” Ogata clarified, keeping his tone blandly innocent, resisting the urge to needle Fujiwara further and provoke the puckered, indignant schoolmistress face. (As fond as Ogata was of that face, flustering Fujiwara wasn't his aim.) “The fabric's too thick for a rub.”
Fujiwara said nothing, but settled back to his original position.
There was a pause - not a particularly long one - but Ogata couldn't help thinking that he'd moved too fast and ruined the moment. Perhaps he'd misread the situation entirely, projecting his own desires onto Fujiwara.
But Fujiwara tugged the collar of his robe open, sliding the material over his left shoulder first, next his right. Then, with an air of expectancy, he folded his hands in his lap, and Ogata's breath hitched at the utter perfectness of that gesture, the implicit trust.
And that beauty. God, it made his teeth ache a bit, the combination of flawless skin and lean muscle and fine bones, and he'd been wanting this for such a long time... His pulse loud in his own ears, Ogata began to knead gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder, mildly surprised at the latent strength he could feel in the wiry muscles. That wasn't a physique that one developed from playing go; on the contrary, the go lifestyle was a sedentary, stressful one that tended to take a toll on players' bodies, especially with the abundance of rich food and travel and yes, the smoking. (Ogata consciously made the effort to work out for a few hours in the gym each week, spurred on by the specter of some of his more portly seniors).
“Did you play a sport?” Ogata asked, keeping the rubbing to a delicate rhythm as he leisurely worked his way towards Fujiwara's shoulders, relishing the feel of muscle under that soft skin.
“Ah, I've been meaning to ask Hikaru,” Fujiwara said. “I have calluses on my palms that I know didn't come from go or my instruments.”
Ogata frowned. He hadn't realized that there were still things that Fujiwara hadn't remembered about his past, but perhaps that wasn't unexpected, considering the sheer number of years Fujiwara had existed. He probably had a lot of memories to shift through, compared to the average person. But they could discuss that later.
Ogata started the massage over, increasing the pressure gradually, and Fujiwara sighed in contentment, arching his neck. “That's nice.”
A mixture of pride and lust swelled in Ogata's chest. He'd always been good with his hands. “Harder?” he said, fully cognizant of how deliciously suggestive the question was.
“Please.”
Ogata rubbed harder, using his thumbs as leverage to press in deep, and Fujiwara started to make whimpering noises that were really quite inconsiderate to Ogata -- inconsiderate since he was on the other side of the couch. Then Fujiwara moaned, a lovely sound that went straight to Ogata's groin, and his vision flashed white-hot with desire.
Ogata found himself pressing his lips against Fujiwara's bared skin, his whole body vibrating with adrenaline, breaths coming quickly. “May I?” Ogata said, unable to keep the sheer need out of his voice, or even clarify what exactly he wanted permission for.
Ogata felt Fujiwara tremble under his lips, and realized that Fujiwara was breathing just as hard.
“Yes. I... I want you to touch me. Please.”
Aroused even further by the answer, Ogata eagerly fell to his task, sucking wet kisses onto the base of Fujiwara's neck, continuing to stroke and rub Fujiwara's shoulders. Next he followed the path of Fujiwara's backbone with his mouth, his senses pleasantly overloaded with the scent of Fujiwara's recently showered skin, and the feel and sound of lips sliding across damp, silky skin.
Ogata let his teeth graze against Fujiwara's backbone, and Fujiwara moaned again, arching his back.
“Ogata-sensei,” he protested. “No fair.”
“Hmm?” Ogata murmured, preoccupied with sucking hard on a spot he'd taken a liking to. There was definitely going to be a nice mark there. He hoped Fujiwara would appreciate it.
Fujiwara pulled away abruptly, and Ogata blinked, startled at the sudden shift and loss of warmth. But Fujiwara turned around completely, kneeling on the couch as he fixed Ogata with an intense gaze, violet eyes piercing. Then he reached for Ogata, wrapping his hands around Ogata's neck and head.
Ogata leaned down into the embrace, propping his hands against the back of the couch for balance as Fujiwara claimed his mouth with a satisfyingly deep kiss. Then Fujiwara started to nip at his lips tenderly, stroking the nape of his neck with long, skillful fingers, and Ogata hummed with pleasure in the back of his throat.
“I think... you should come... over here,” Fujiwara said between nips.
“I have a better idea. Let's go to my bedroom,” Ogata said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. (By god, he was not going to start grinding into the couch like a horny teenager.) The couch wasn't adequate enough space for the two of them, although if Fujiwara insisted, Ogata would make it work.
“Oh... alright.”
Ogata stepped out of the embrace, and tried not to smirk at the sight of Fujiwara blushing, his eyes averted sideways as if he'd suddenly grown shy at the thought of going into Ogata's bedroom, although he'd been perfectly content with allowing Ogata to molest him for the last fifteen minutes or so. Ogata came around the couch and planted a kiss on Fujiwara's forehead, then slipped his fingers into Fujiwara's.
Fujiwara smiled, and let himself be led down the hallway and then pulled down beside Ogata onto the large bed.
“You didn't make your bed,” Fujiwara observed, sounding amused as he looked around the rest of the neatly organized room, and Ogata realized that Fujiwara had probably never been inside before.
“I know, and I haven't even changed out of my bed clothes yet. I hope you can forgive my appalling messiness,” Ogata said wryly, then he initiated a second kiss by slipping his tongue inside Fujiwara's mouth, enjoying the velvety warmth and the sensual little noises Fujiwara was making. His hands wandered to Fujiwara's waist and the bathrobe's tie. A few tugs, and the tie came undone. Ogata slid the robe off Fujiwara, letting it pool around his slender hips.
Ogata broke away from the kiss to drink in the sight of Fujiwara's nude body, admiring the porcelain skin, completely pale except for his little pink nipples, and the dark patch of hair leading to his cock, which looked about as hard as Ogata's. Ogata felt his heart thud loudly against his ribcage.
Fujiwara flushed again as Ogata looked him up and down, pursing his lips into a pout. “No fair,” he said again. “You're still dressed.”
“You can remedy that,” Ogata said.
Fujiwara took the hint, and gripped at the hem of Ogata's top, sliding it over his head easily. Then he tugged at the waistband of Ogata's pant bottoms, managing to slide them down as far as Ogata's hipbones.
Ogata laughed at the look of frustration on Fujiwara's face, and stood up, quickly ridding himself of his boxers and pant bottoms.
Fujiwara was now the one staring, his eyes glittering with appreciation and lust, and Ogata felt his erection stiffening even more, hard to almost the point of pain.
Fujiwara lay down on the bed, and then curled his fingers around Ogata's wrist. He tugged Ogata towards himself, and Ogata was only too happy to oblige, letting himself be pulled down on top of Fujiwara. He gasped reflexively at the sudden sensation of full skin-on-skin contact and the feel of his erection rubbing against Fujiwara's.
Ogata had to use both of his hands to brace himself over Fujiwara, but his mouth was free to trace the outline of Fujiwara's jawline while Fujiwara ran his hands over Ogata's body, exploring his arms and chest and back. One of Fujiwara's hands squeezed his ass, and Ogata moaned, thrusting down hard against Fujiwara's cock.
Whimpering, Fujiwara stirred restlessly under Ogata, and he arched up, trying to thrust back against Ogata, but the friction wasn't satisfying enough for either of them.
Ogata moved over to Fujiwara's left, then rolled onto his side, aligning his body to Fujiwara's. Fujiwara smiled in realization, and rolled onto his side as well, pressing his body against Ogata's, his eyes fluttering shut as their erections touched again. Ogata wrapped his right hand around both their cocks and began to stroke with a slow, strong rhythm, his own eyes shutting as pleasure flooded his body.
As Ogata increased the pace, he became aware that Fujiwara's fingernails were digging into his back. But the pain was oddly pleasurable since he liked having Fujiwara cling to him, liked knowing that he was doing this to Fujiwara, with Fujiwara.
Ogata forced his eyes open just in time to watch Fujiwara as orgasm overtook him, damp hair sticking to his flushed face, lips parted as he moaned and arched.
You're so beautiful, was Ogata's last thought as his own orgasm claimed him, and he shuddered violently as he came, mind blacking out awareness of everything except for sheer, explosive pleasure.
Some time later, Ogata gradually became aware of the sounds of his own heavy breathing -- and gentle fingers combing through his hair. He opened his eyes to see Fujiwara propped up on his hand, smiling at him indulgently, his pale skin still flushed.
“I hope you didn't hurt yourself,” Fujiwara said teasingly. “You are a bit older than I am, aren't you?”
Ogata arched an eyebrow. “Says the thousand-year-old ghost. You're practically a cradle-robber, you know. I ought to warn the authorities about you and your roving eye.”
Fujiwara made an exaggerated expression of affront. “Are you calling me old, Ogata-sensei?”
“Old only in spirit,” Ogata said with a leer, placing a hand on Fujiwara's hip. “And you're going to have to start calling me 'Seiji' now.”
Fujiwara tested the name in his mouth. “Seiji... Seiji-san. Seiji-sensei? It seems odd. Why can't I just keep calling you 'Ogata'?”
“Just 'Seiji.' And nowadays, it's... customary to be on a first name basis with someone after you sleep together. At least in private. You'll have time to get used to it,” Ogata said, and placed a kiss on Fujiwara's lips, feeling a sense of deep contentment and rightness as he lay next to Fujiwara. They still had a few issues to resolve, yet Ogata knew that everything would work out, one way or another.
But as for now... there was a mess all over the bedsheets and their stomachs. Ogata sighed and rubbed Fujiwara's hip. He really didn't want to leave the comfort of the bed or Fujiwara, but the mess would be harder to clean when it dried.
Then a rather pleasant resolution occurred to Ogata.
“How would you like to learn about another modern post-coital custom, Sai?”
Fujiwara tilted his head, immediately attentive.
“It's called 'Taking a shower together.' ”
--The End.
* * *
Random Smut Drabble... From the Future!! (That is, at some point after the above “first time sex” piece.)
There it was again. There was absolutely no mistaking it this time.
Ogata halted his preparations and narrowed his eyes at the naked man sprawled on his bedsheets. Looking damned fine on his bedsheets, granted, but Ogata wasn't going to take that kind of behavior from any partner, no matter how attractive. "You giggled at me."
Fujiwara looked at him from under his long eyelashes in an attempt to look guileless, but the attempt was wholly ruined by another giggle. "I'm sorry, Seiji, but I can't help it! You look so serious. You've even got that little furrow between your eyebrows."
Ogata raised his eyebrows, feeling rather perplexed. "What's odd about that? Sex is serious. If you're not careful, someone can get hurt."
Fujiwara patted him on the wrist consolingly. "It's just that... that's the exact same look... you get... when you're trying to figure out a way to steal... territory!" he managed to get out before he burst into another fit of giggles.
Ogata fingered his chin, pondering this new information. At least the idiot wasn't laughing about something actually embarrassing... Then he allowed himself a grin he knew was particularly wicked, and bent over to bite and kiss at Fujiwara's neck, abandoning his preparations.
"Mmm, this is nice, but aren't you going to... finish?" Fujiwara said breathlessly after Ogata had been molesting his neck for several long moments.
Ogata paused to grin against the warm skin under his lips. "Perhaps I've decided to gain 'territory' elsewhere for now. You'll just have to wait a few more hands to find out." Fujiwara whimpered in protest then, and Ogata laughed quietly. It was Fujiwara's fault for bringing go analogies into the bedroom, but that didn't mean Ogata couldn't have fun with them.
--The End.
* * *
Author's Notes:
Getting a shoulder massage at the hairdresser's is actually customary in Japan, although being punished with kisses for falling asleep is not, unfortunately. Hahah.
I hope that y'all enjoyed my addition to the desynch universe... I meant to get something out sooner (I finished the main story in November) but it's hard for me to find the energy to write when I come home from work (waiting tables is actually pretty tiring). Well, at least I won't be doing it for much longer.
I view Ogata and Sai's relationship as being a pretty fun and healthy one, when they're not clashing on a key issue (they are both stubborn about certain things). I think Sai brings out Ogata's playful side.
Comments and criticism are welcomed as always. Thanks for reading!