Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Intimate Rivals	By : Salysha Category: +S through Z > Tekken Views: 5835 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken or any of the characters in it. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6: Flip Out to the Dark Side

The practice hall was empty as Jin and Hwoarang entered it. They had decided to practice together, and it was better to go at it with someone you knew to be a challenge.

They agreed to take it lightly, just to keep up the mood while waiting for the scheduled fights. It didn’t stay light.

As soon as the first punch landed, the mood changed palpably, and the sense of camaraderie morphed into ire, fueled by an old match that had left them unfulfilled at the absence of a winner. Hwoarang could feel the old fire burning again, and itched to solve supremacy once and for all. Jin was absorbed by a different, fiendish urge that he was unable to quell and, as the match progressed and the hits hardened, incapable to even recognize as a yen not his own.

It was like dark, twisted magic. Jin gathered power into his strikes in a way unfit for sparring; Hwoarang demonstrated his agility with a merciless string of kicks that Jin was unable to block, let alone match. Hwoarang topped off his charge by grabbing Jin by the wrist and landing a deliberate, mocking series of kicks on his face, all the while supporting himself on one leg only, showing off a superior sense of balance. He pushed Jin onto the ground easily and, for having the ability to toss the Mishima prodigy around as he pleased, sneered.

The fight crossed the line then. Jin rose impossibly fast and was back to face Hwoarang in no time. Before the latter had had the time to process the shift of power, Jin had landed a terrifying strike that sent him flying backward with a thump into the wall. The wind was knocked out of Hwoarang, who barely registered a flash of red and a sizzling sound before Jin attacked again. He was pushed onto the wall and captured at the neck with an arm.

The shock that Jin was strangling him left Hwoarang anything but paralyzed. He immediately tried to push him off, but it was to no avail. Instead, Jin captured him even more securely, invading his personal space so that they were brushing against each other. He pushed at his neck upward with one arm, forcing him to rise on his toes, and secured his hand with his free arm. Jin had him immobilized effectively; he had no leverage, due to Jin’s proximity and the waning support of his legs. Jin used his impressive build effectively to pin him flat. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his constricted larynx except garble. His sight was failing; in his eyes, Kazama’s had shifted color. Black marks danced in his field of vision.

“Pray.”

Hwoarang didn’t understand that it was Jin speaking right by him; the voice was alien. Hwoarang coiled for one last attempt to shake Jin off. He drew a knee right below the ribcage, and it worked; Jin lost his hold, and Hwoarang drew a shaky breath, but then he was captured again.

Jin leaned in. “Beg.” His voice cracked with a metallic sound. It was an empty taunt, not meant to be fulfilled. Hwoarang was captured with an even deadlier stranglehold and, this time, no strength or skill saved him as his desperate struggle was quenched by asphyxia and a painful descent into deathly darkness.

--

“Shh. Lie still. Don’t move.”

Hwoarang rose at the voice, but strong hands restrained him and pinned him against the soft material. As he stopped resisting, due to lack of honest strength to fight back, the hands immediately released him and went to rest on his chest.

“Hwoarang, can you hear me? Don’t say anything, all right? Wave your hand or something.” The voice was a beacon, guiding Hwoarang back into the world. He knew the speaker, but he was not awake enough to put a name on the accent. The voice asked for his input again, and finally Hwoarang managed a weak lift of his hand.

“Good. Now, listen. Try not to speak or move much. Open your eyes; it’s dark in here. Take it easy.”

It was uncertain if the step-by-step instructions had sunk in, but obligingly enough, Hwoarang opened his eyes and blinked to grow accustomed to the surroundings. When he was finally able to see straight, he recognized Steve Fox sitting by his side.

As recognition dawned, Steve shot him a grin. “Welcome back.” He tapped lightly on Hwoarang’s chest.

Hwoarang gave a mutter, which turned into a hacking fit.

“What did I say about talking? None of that.”

Hwoarang lay still. He was analyzing the surroundings, but the data was inconsistent. Why was it Steve? It should have been... “Jin?”

“Jin’s not here. Don’t worry about him now.”

His sides were sore, not to mention his arms felt like hell. His throat was sandpaper, and air rasped as he drew breath. Hwoarang batted his lids, but the world wasn’t making sense. He tried to put two and two together, but the math wouldn’t add up. His eyes closed, and he dropped limply on the bed.

Steve looked at him, but the crease of his brow smoothed when he saw Hwoarang’s chest rise and fall steadily. Either the man had passed out or was just regrouping; either way, he was still with the living. Steve drew a leg up on the bed and allowed himself to sink back in his chair.

--

He had gone to the gym, eager to throw a few punches before the rest of the crowd would start pouring in. It was funny how, in a massive household like this, the fighters tended to do things at the same time and hate each other for it, while still unable to break the routine.

A disconcerting sight had met him: Jin Kazama pushing Hwoarang against the wall in a manner that seemed far from friendly practice. Steve had grown alarmed as he had seen Hwoarang slump and his eyes close.

“Stop! What the hell are you doing!?” He dropped his bag and sprinted to the other side. “Stop it, Jin!” He yanked Jin off. Without the support, Hwoarang sank onto the floor bonelessly. Steve’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he spat at Jin, who now realized there was a third man in the room and recoiled at the harsh tone, unbecoming the usually benign Steve Fox.

Jin gulped and backed away as Steve looked at him with due accusation laced with incredulity. Steve cast glances back and forth between them, making sure Jin wouldn’t bolt on him before focusing fully on Hwoarang. “Hey. Hey, wake up.” His words had no effect.

Steve explored his options frantically. What the hell was he supposed to do? Check the breathing? Yeah, that’s it. He leaned in to listen to any sounds, but realized the trick wasn’t working. Try the pulse? Good thinking. He yanked his glove off and hovered uncertainly before latching his fingers onto Hwoarang’s wrist. He found a beat, but was it supposed to be fast or slow? How the hell was he supposed to know, and what could he do about it, in any case? He realized he was growing frantic and not helping at all. He wasn’t a medic, but he would do what he could. He would treat this just as another knockout.

He realized he had missed the other party, and looked around for the culprit. As he saw the dark figure, his anger faded and concern took over. A distance away, Jin sat with his back against the wall, his head buried in his arms. He was shaking.

“Hey. Come over here. Help me out.” He tried to keep a cheery note.

When no response came, Steve left Hwoarang’s side and made his way over to Jin. He crouched beside Jin and spoke gently. “C’mon. It’s fine. He’s fine. You just knocked him out. Get up and help me before someone comes in here.” His arms bore into his thighs as he supported himself and held back, pointedly not touching Jin despite the close distance. “Jin, snap out of it. You have to get up.”

Jin, buried in some dark world of his, couldn’t resist the soothing voice. He looked up at Steve, who repressed the urge to comfort Jin at seeing the distraught, red-rimmed look the man gave a spot above his shoulder, not meeting his eyes. He gave a little smile. “That’s it. Rise and shine. Come on over, and we’ll deal with this.”

Steve drew himself up and waited for Jin to do the same. He escorted him back to Hwoarang and unhesitantly brushed off Jin’s hesitancy, pretending not to notice. The benefit of the doubt, not to mention Jin’s comportment now, made him disinclined to throw stones. Whatever had caused the mindless display, the poor devil was paying hell for it now. “We need to get him out. People are coming in any time now, and he should rest somewhere. Let him wake up on his own time, hm?”

Jin stared at the unconscious redhead frozenly. “I’ll carry him,” he said numbly.

“No, you won’t. You’ll break your back if you try. You take one side, and I take one.”

“I’ll carry him.”

“You can’t and you won’t, so don’t bother arguing about it.” Steve reached down to pull Hwoarang up, and Jin had no choice but to mimic his gestures. Between them, they lifted Hwoarang and supported him reasonably well by the arms and hands wrapped around his waist. While Steve pondered a more straightforward “you take the legs, I take the head” approach, he figured this was the safest to explain in case they ran into someone, even if it wasn’t very comfortable for the carrier, least of all the carriee. Steve had no plans to explain anything to anyone, but still... this position was the one people expected when unconscious mates were moved around. “Where’s Hwoarang staying?”

“We share a room.”

Steve didn’t skip a beat. “We take him to mine. It’s closer,” he said smoothly. Inwardly, his amazement at the new piece of information knew no limits. The hell?!

--

So it was that Steve found himself the watcher of Hwoarang, placed unconscious on his bed and only now coming to, while thinking about Jin, who had slipped out as soon as they were done and hadn’t come back. Angry though he was at the idiocy he had witnessed, he couldn’t help worrying about Kazama, who had seemed to be in shock.

Hwoarang was stirring again, bringing Steve out of his thoughts. “Hey?”

“Mm--” Hwoarang shot up and went into a coughing fit. The hacking breaths came out painfully.

Damn! Steve waited by helplessly. He knew he wasn’t any help at all, but he had no idea what to do. The coughing stopped, and he grasped Hwoarang’s bicep. “You hanging in there?”

Hwoarang drew breath and winced at the firm agony his pipes were giving. He massaged his neck, but that only amplified the sting. “Da--” His voice broke, and he grimaced. He drew himself up on the bed and leaned forward. “Damn,” he croaked and frowned. “Sounds awful.”

“It’s no prize,” Steve agreed, and his spirits soared when Hwoarang shot him a nasty look. “I’ll get you water. Don’t go anywhere.” He slipped down to the hallway to give Hwoarang some privacy and not give away how relieved he himself was. His heart was still racing, and it had nearly been in his throat earlier. He skipped the nearest water supply and strode down to the kitchen instead.

When he returned with two glasses, Hwoarang was sitting up on the bed, looking more alert already. “This is cold. This one’s lukewarm.”

Hwoarang beckoned to the cold glass and gave a grimace along with a gulp. He switched glasses quickly, mentally toasting to Steve. Drinking stung, but he was thirsty. He downed the entire glass, which still left him thirsting for more. “Thanks.” This voice rasped, but it was livable.

“You might want to lay off the talking,” Steve reminded him. “And lie down if you’re feeling dizzy.”

Hwoarang’s head jerked, and he gave a dismissive grunt. His head felt heavy and his thinking dragged, but he wasn’t about to make that public knowledge. He brought a hand to his side and felt it down to his waist; he discovered the muscles sore to his touch.

“Or you can be stubborn and stay up, just to spite me,” Steve suggested.

A quick twitch traced Hwoarang’s lips as he raised a brow and mouthed, “Hmph.” He stayed up, sitting cross-legged on Steve’s bed, even when he was nodding off. This wouldn’t do. He straightened up. “Where the hell’s Kazama?”

“I don’t know. He helped get you here and then he disappeared.” Hwoarang was up and determined to stay that way. Sighing defeat, Steve slouched in his chair. He sat around, but the silence was making him uneasy. “So...,” he said eventually, “you and Jin, hm?”

Hwoarang’s pulse shot up. He willed himself not to react, but his system wouldn’t abide his will; his breathing was too heavy in his own ears. “What?” He hoped that had come off as casual, but his chest was heaving. He coughed.

“He said you share a room. I thought you two didn’t get along?”

“Yeah, well....” It suddenly dawned on Hwoarang that Steve was talking about the buddy-buddy and nothing more private. “Yeah, well. We are working on it. We were working on it....” Hwoarang got up abruptly.

“Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?”

Steve’s tone was so offended, Hwoarang couldn’t help cracking a smile. “Flattered by your nursemaid skills, but I’m not dead. I’ll lie down in my own room; clear your space.” His speech came out a little labored, but it had the usual sharpness to it, as did his entire bearing, despite the nasty twinge of his side.

“You don’t need to leave,” Steve said firmly.

Hwoarang shook his head, displeased to find it reacting badly to the motion. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re going to be pig-headed with this, aren’t you?” As Hwoarang gave him a confirming look, Steve continued with a pronounced sigh, “If you need me, I’m staying here. If you and Jin... you know?”

It was probably a different “you know” he was thinking, but Hwoarang wasn’t going to correct him. He did know. “Thanks, Steve.” He grasped Steve’s shoulder and kept his hand there a little longer than necessary. He looked at him from the corner of his eye.

Steve understood. “Any time, mate,” he said, faking a cheerful tone. He clapped Hwoarang on the back hard enough to earn a scowl and a cough and to consider both their prides intact. Hwoarang was leaving, but Steve hesitated. Maybe he should just stay out of it, but it wasn’t the right thing to do. “Hey.... For what it’s worth, he was really shaken. Don’t think he meant it.”

--

Hwoarang was shaky on his feet by the time he finally reached their room. Upon parting Steve, he had had the full intention of locating Kazama and pushing for an explanation, but as he’d started on his way, he had realized he had to go lie down as quickly as possible. He was lucky to make it through the building without running into too many fellow competitors, and the only one he saw, he was able to pass by with a greeting grunt.

He made it to the room, gave a knock, and, when no reply came, pushed the handle. The door stayed firmly closed, even when the handle turned. The surprise lasted a second before determination took over. Jin wasn’t going to be rid of him that easily. “It’s me. Open up,” he called out and tapped on the door.

There was no answer. Hwoarang waited and tried the handle again. He didn’t even remember their room having a particularly good lock, but it must have; why else would the door be closed? Yet, the door wouldn’t open. Nauseated and confused, Hwoarang bridled.

“Jin, open the fuck up! My shit’s in there!”

Hwoarang cursed to himself. Why did he have to say that? His head felt like such a mess. He’d come back when he was able to think clearly. He kicked the door and turned to leave.

The moving noises from inside the room stopped him. It dawned on Hwoarang that Jin had been sitting against the door, and he had just kicked the guy in the back. Regardless of the circumstances, his guilt rocketed. Hwoarang opened the door to find Jin backed away in the dim room, lightly hidden in the shadows. The curtains were drawn.

As Hwoarang stepped in and approached his target, closing the door behind him, he was stunned when Jin backed away from him. What the devil.... “Jin?” he said carefully.

He could hear Jin’s breathing in the room, but the deficient light didn’t hide the man as well as he perhaps thought: he could make Jin’s features distinctly.

Jin beheld Hwoarang, but his gaze faltered. “I am sorry.”

Jin’s entire being was so forlorn, Hwoarang’s insides surged in sympathy. However, before he could speak, a coughing fit surprised him, and he drew his chin to his chest. His pipes protested, but the coughing reflex was too compelling. As he raised his gaze, Jin had moved further, effectively cornering himself. It was as though Jin was afraid of him, but that thought was insane. “This is just tem-- temp-- now,” Hwoarang said between coughs. “It’ll pass.” His head hurt, and it didn’t help that Jin’s weirdness and the eerie room risked grating on him.

“Do you move out, or do I? I don’t mind; I just didn’t know what you wanted to d--”

“WHAT?”

“You don’t want to stay.”

Jin’s voice bled pain. Were those--were those tears in his voice? Hwoarang pressed a palm on his head. He wasn’t sure which hurt more, his head or his throat, and his heart wasn’t doing so well, either. His pulse was creeping up by the second, and his heart positively pounded. “Jin--” Hwoarang made a direct course to the bed, ignoring Jin’s flinching and subsequent relief at being bypassed. “--Shut up.” He sat on the bed, pulled his legs up, and lay down.

“What are you doing?” Jin choked.

“I’m going to sleep, and you’re gonna let me,” Hwoarang said, closing his eyes.

“You... you aren’t leaving?”

“No.” Hwoarang kept his eyes closed with effort at first, but drowsiness overtook him, and a welcome lassitude spread to his body. A full minute passed in silence, and he felt the weight of each second on him. He was fully aware that Jin had not moved. “Quit staring.”

“How did you know?”

“I can feel you.” The humor in his voice was marred by the audible rasping. His voice was giving out. He, too, could only think of sleep. “C’mere.”

“What?”

Hwoarang raised a feeble hand and beckoned to Jin. It took ages before the latter reacted, but he finally moved from his safe spot over to the bedside. Hwoarang patted the bed beside him and inched closer to the wall. He didn’t move much; he had every right to the damn bed and sprawling on it to his heart’s content, but he left what he thought was a symbolic amount of room. “Come on,” he repeated with a pat on the bed and drew his hand out of the way, leaving the space up for grabs.

Too long passed until Jin sat beside him, half slipping onto the floor, not touching him. Wariness shone from him.

“You’re still staring.” Hwoarang’s lips curled.

Jin finally caught the drift. Loathe to believe his luck, unwilling to believe he could have been forgiven, he lay down on his side next to Hwoarang, who rested on his back. They weren’t touching, and Jin was close to falling off the bed entirely. His settling down went without objections, which he could barely comprehend. He waited, stupefied, but as no feedback came, he ventured on and scooted over until he was firmly pressed onto Hwoarang’s side. Luckily, he didn’t touch any sore spots.

Jin gulped a little, but no voice came to tell him off. He didn’t know what this was. In the end, fully expecting to be elbowed out and prepared to accept it, he braved a hand on Hwoarang’s stomach. “I am so sorry.”

“Shut up,” Hwoarang said, but he wasn’t angry. He lifted the arm Jin wasn’t trapping between them and touched Jin’s upper arm. He brushed his hand against Jin’s before dropping it on his side and succumbing to repose. He left behind a Jin amazed by the turn of events and holding onto him tightly.

--

It was getting dark when Hwoarang roused. It didn’t take him long to register that he was very warm and surrounded by more warmth. Somewhere down the line, a blanket had appeared to cover him to his chest. His stomach was warm, and a warm palm was pressed onto it. The likely culprit for the blanket and the certified owner of the hand was snuggled on his side.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hmm.” His throat was drier than the desert, and he was roasting. He didn’t open his eyes; he knew without looking that Jin had his eyes on him. “How long’ve you been up?”

“A while.”

That translated to sleeping little to none. Hwoarang struggled to identify the emotions that the notion brought: it was a little creepy, to be sure, that Jin had watched over him and kept guard, but it also made Hwoarang gulp, and he was subsequently reminded of his parched throat. It also caused some of that outward warmth travel inward and flood him.

Jin sharpened. ”I’ll get you something to drink.”

A drink would’ve been nice, but Hwoarang uttered, “Ngh.” He wanted to lie here and enjoy the moment. Jin conceded and stayed leeched onto his side, leaving Hwoarang to process the day.

When Steve had left, he had had time to think things through. He had come to the irrevocable conclusion that he couldn’t be angry with Jin because he would have done the same: seen red and sought retribution. It was an accident that things had gone awry the way they had, and it made surprisingly little difference. He could afford a few bruises and bear the brunt of Jin’s umbrage.

It was he who had humiliated Jin. He had been so high strung on adrenaline and the triumph at besting the Mishima miracle by a margin, he’d gone out of his way to make his kicks sting and show a lack of regard. He hadn’t meant it any more than he had been able to stop himself. The heat of the fight had overcome discretion; Jin matched him, which evoked deeply personal, overpowering emotions. It had been a game of luck of which one of them would prevail, and his had run out for one moment. The bottom line was... he understood. He didn’t want to analyze it to death, but it made sense to him. The fight could have gone either way, with either one of them losing it; they weren’t that different.

“Hwoarang?”

Jin’s voice cut off his musings. It vibrated against his chest as Jin spoke, his body still firmly pressed on his side. Jin’s hand rubbed at his stomach lightly, warm and comfortable.

It felt good, and Hwoarang smiled to himself. “Hm?”

“I really am sorry.”

Hwoarang’s smile faded. He cracked his eyes open and met Jin’s through his clearing vision. He brought a hand to Jin’s face and brushed a dark bang off his brow. “I know.” Those dark eyes were so expressive; he risked giving in to emotion himself. He swallowed a little, and the faint smile rose back on his face. Jin averted his gaze and simply lay against him.

This time, it was Hwoarang who lost himself looking. It was dark, but he could see Jin clearly. It felt like the first time every time he did. He was turning into a hopeless sap. Hwoarang kicked the blanket off himself, causing Jin to stir. “It’s too warm.” The warmth they shared between themselves was plenty, and he suspected it was contributing to his throat feeling even more parched. Cool water would have been nectar now, but he was too comfortable to get up and get some and not mean enough to make Jin do it. He simply eased into the embrace and suppressed a cough successfully.

He wasn’t that successful. “Hwoarang, I--”

“Jin, don’t worry about it. I don’t break that easily. Stay still, if you don’t have to be anywhere.”

“I don’t have to be anywhere else.”

“Good.” In the same breath, they snuggled tighter. Hwoarang had no idea what time it was, but he was tired. It was too early to go to bed – except he already was in bed and with Jin – but he was going to take a breather for the evening and wake up as good as new. They would put this past them, clean and simple. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

“Are you sure?”

The shades of gray in Jin’s world seemed less dull when he heard the conviction in Hwoarang’s answer:

“Yes.”

Many thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!

Originally published May 15, 2009.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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

Intimate Rivals