Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Yours Till Dawn	By : Yaoichi Category: +S through Z > Tekken Views: 4366 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
*** *** ***

The young man was staring at the ceiling. With two fingers running through his meticulously coloured locks, he frowned at the walls which were much too close for his tastes. The bed - if the hard bench with a mattress on it could be called that - let out annoying noises whenever he moved his body. His eyes drifted closed for a moment as he cursed destiny itself with a stream of Korean insults. Why him?

'I'm hopeless. I had to go lose my heart to someone, and to top it off, someone I can never get. Someone self-absorbed who will not pay attention to my approaches. Someone with an upper-class upbringing, scorning a man of the streets like myself. As if that wasn't enough, he is Japanese. And he's the one I cannot beat in a fight. Of all people, I lost my heart to Jin Kazama.'

Picturing the well-toned body in front of him, he felt his heart beat faster. The desire was strong, even if the prospect seemed unlikely. From experience, he knew trying to fight his urges would only make them stronger. Glancing over to his shoes by the door, his mind drifted onwards.

'Here I am again. I don't understand why. I've been to two tournaments like this one already. He's been at both of them. I've been trying to make him understand my feelings for him. But he doesn't care. He just ignores me. And then he kicks my ass, just like he does with everyone. He always got to be the best, and most often succeeds through sheer determination. Not that I cannot relate, but it would be good for him to lose once in a while. Getting his feet back on the ground, so to speak. But feet on the ground is not one of his stronger points. He usually leaves the scene flying.

What do I hope to gain from this? I don't know. Despite Baek's encouraging words, it's not like I can win the tournament. If it had been fair; maybe I'd have had a chance then. But it isn't. There's Heihachi Mishima, there's Kazuya Mishima, and as if that wasn't enough, there are hidden agendas everywhere. And then there's Jin. How can I fight someone when his pain would hurt me more than it hurts himself?'

He frowned at the thought. An Iron Fist Tournament always brought about a good amount of pain. Surely enough, he personally tended to hand out a bit more than he received, but that didn't really alleviate it in the long run. One fight, two fights, sure. Seven against the likes of Bryan Fury, Paul Phoenix and Jin? Not a chance. There had been a time where he was hell-bent on winning the entire thing to claim the Zaibatsu. Not anymore. Winning didn't seem to help Jin any in that aspect anyway. The old fucker was still in charge, for whatever reason. The tournament itself was no longer important to Hwoarang, yet what was, really? He wanted Jin, but he'd been through this all before, and knew well that he was setting himself up for another disappointment. Thinking back to his earlier attempts at escaping the circle he was caught in, a dry, self-ironic smile forced itself out.

'I fled to the army the first time; it didn't help. They took me back from the last one. Now I'm finally free, and next thing I know, I'm here again. Chasing the heart of someone who doesn't care, because he has captured mine. The circle is getting worn out, and it's his fault. Either he's blind, or he has no compassion. Am I being hard on him? I don't think so. The man is the devil. Literally.

The Korean had tried many times to dislike Jin. Trying to hate him. Trying to feel all those things his pride made him say. It wasn't easy. Hell, easy? It was bloody mission impossible. He'd start on such a trail of thought, and moments later, he'd feel himself harden with lust, images of himself snuggling up and kissing the man flowing through his mind. It was little use trying to hate someone when obsession took its immediate toll.

At least this time, he got a room with a TV. The training hall was on the same floor, and he got his own fridge. The beer wasn't half bad either, for Japan anyway. Everything about the accommodation was several steps up from last time. Then again, that didn't take much... 'When your expectations are low enough, you aren't hard to please. I guess I'm searching for the good parts, faced with strong emotions I doubt I can handle.' He immediately pushed the realisation out of his mind with an angry sneer. 'Fuck that. I need to train.'

Not having bothered to undress before laying down on the bed, all he needed to do to get ready was slipping back into his shoes.

Hwoarang made his way from his room to the hall specifically reserved for the contestants' training. Whereas there were stalls separated by what looked like cardboard walls, it was nevertheless possible to see pretty much the entire room barring a few dark corners from its center. Hwoarang walked to this region of the floor and got an overview of the area.

'Apparently, there's not much people around this late in the evening. Where are they, anyway? It's not like they'd have a life to attend to around here, most of them. Let me guess... Lei, that nosy cop, is probably chasing another entrant. Who will it be this time? It can't be me. At least it really shouldn't be. Maybe it's one of the Williams sisters. There's something about them that just isn't right.

The bloody guy with the sword is around too. How come they let him use it in the fights? Not that I care. I'll kick his ass any time of the day. Must be fun, anyway. That sword has some seriously cool light effects when handled right.... wonder if I can set up a bet for it somehow? He'd have to show me the ins and outs too, but I'd just have to work on the wording of the bet. Plus, I'll have to figure out an appropriate wager on my part.

Hwoarang chuckled lightly to himself. That bastard ninja offering up his sword in a bet? Not fucking likely. Perhaps if hell froze over or he challenged him in swordfighting, but short of that, not even his own skills in making people feel superior would do.

Heihachi has a weird sense of humour. The training hall is a damn... hall. He collects as many deadly people as possible, and put them in a room together to train how to be... deadly. Add in free alcohol. At least I'm not drunk. Much.

It's a good time to come here now, when there are only a couple others around. Let them train their butts off while I'm asleep for all I care. I'd rather they don't see my newer tricks before it's too late... for them.'

"Yo, Hwoarang!"

'Steve. If he wasn't so jolly bubbly happy all the time, he could be quite all right, I suppose. Now he's just plain annoying. But at least he's trying. Unlike a certain someone...'

"Hello Steve, how's it goin'?"

"All good, you?"

"Yea, can't complain." 'Damn right I can complain. But not to you, Steve. You wouldn't understand. Hell, who'd understand? I'm not sure if I understand myself.'

"Care to spar?"

'Hmmm... now there's a good warm-up if I ever had one, but it's bound to get frustrating. The problem with fighting Steve is that he's practically never there when your kick arrives. He'll be swaying from side to side a feet under it, have stepped further away, or trying one of his baby pat pounces that you really don't want to connect with your jaw. You don't even get to smack your leg into a block. In short, sparring with him is a loss waiting to happen. I can't just knock him out cold like I would in the real thing, now can I? I doubt I'm getting many of my kicks in.' "Not sure, I'm not warmed up yet. Staying around for a while?"

The British boxer responded with a shrug. "Actually no, I'm heading off soon. Tomorrow, maybe?"

'Well, that leaves plenty of time for pondering. Not quite sure why he'd want to spar me if he isn't more enthusiastic than that. I'd put it down to foolishness, but he certainly knows who he's talking to...'"Sure, we'll see."

"Rightio - take care, mate."

"You too, Steve." 'At least he didn't call me 'guv'. Is that a term of endearment or an insult, anyway? I've never heard anyone else use it. Maybe it's a Steveism, or perhaps all Brits go around calling each other 'guv' all day long. I wouldn't know.

One-two, one-two, kick-kick-kick. Stretch all out. Twist the hip. Oh yea, I know the drill. Too well, I guess, if there's such a thing. But Baek's been good to me. Least I could do was absorb what he's been teaching. I lost count around 400 exercises and tricks, but I'm fairly sure we've doubled that by now - I was 16 at the time.'

Hwoarang's attention shifted to a figure leant against the wall at the other side of the room. Going through a few more exercises, he kept checking the other man out. Surely enough, he wasn't doing anything but watching the Korean.

'I wish that guy would stop staring. I haven't seen him here before, but I assume he's competing. The way he's studying my moves tell me he's either planning on fighting me or preparing a documentary. The latter isn't coming up anytime soon. He may be masked, but I'll recognize those eyes anywhere; he won't fool me. Besides, that scar near his eye is a sure help. Let's see how long I need to stare back before he leaves... 1... 2... now, that was pretty fast. I assumed I'd get at least to five. Have a good look at this middle finger then, before you go. Oh, I love those cross glances in the morning... or evening. Whatever.'

He watched the man disappear out the door, and went back to practicing. Seconds later, a sudden motion to the left attracted Hwoarang's attention, and his block got there at the very last moment to protect his nose. 'Who the hell does the fucker think he is, anyway?' With strong, unmasked annoyance, Hwoarang spoke to his face. "I'll have you know, you're picking on the wrong guy. Fuck off, will ya?"

The other man folded his arms without giving as much as an inch. "Hah. Disrespectful."

Hwoarang chuckled. "What's it to ya? Stop wasting my time."

An air of superiority filled the new fighter's face, as he spoke with a slow, insisting voice. "Ok. I challenge you. Tomorrow, at ten am. Here. Will you dare to come?"

The Korean managed to hold back another chuckle. 'He's as bad as me, this guy. Game on!' He raised a finger without taking his eyes off the other man, and spoke quickly and loudly, trying to sound as threatening as he could. "If you're not here when I come, I will hunt you down. And that will not be pretty..."

Their gazes remained locked for what felt like an eternity, before the man snorted and walked away, leaving Hwoarang alone in the practice hall. 'Why did that moron have to choose a time virtually in the middle of the night, anyway... sheesh! Now I'll have to get up early and everything. I'd better warm up as well. If I want breakfast, that's going to be fucking what? A quarter past nine?! A crime against humanity! Well, I'll just kick his ass harder. He'll be sorry...'

Hwoarang decided that he'd leave his training session way short for the evening, and started going through the most important exercises. After all, if he didn't go to bed sometime soon, he'd risk his beauty sleep. He never risked his beauty sleep.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Yours Till Dawn