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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Rubicon- a line that when crossed permits no return and typically results in irrevocable commitment. WordNet 3.0.

This chapter features romance at M rating.

--

Chapter 7: Rubicon

Two days later, Hwoarang was scrutinizing his belongings. The suitcase rested open on the credenza, and he was lifting the layers of clothes one corner at a time to see what was underneath. His gaze drifted to the bedside table and the drinking glasses, which were piling up in towers. He really should get Jin to take them away.

The idea that he wouldn’t be mean enough to make Jin run his errands had lasted for one night exactly. After that, Jin had drowned him in drinks and anything he thought would help with the recovery. Half the time, Hwoarang made him get things for him. It had worked beautifully, until Jin had gotten suspicious that he was running him around for nothing. Hwoarang grinned.

Suddenly, he giggled. “Sonova--!”

It was to no avail. Jin had placed his hands on his hips, planted a kiss to the back of his neck, and vanished just as swiftly, leaving the door to close behind him with a click.

Hwoarang brought a hand to his neck and rubbed the spot to get rid of the ticklishness. The feeling passed, and the vicious rubbing ceased. He squeezed the back of his neck gently, this time savoring the memory. The smile couldn’t be contained. He knew Jin had sported a grin of his own upon parting. The man was smug and much too pleased with himself.

The glasses on the bedside table chanced into Hwoarang’s eyes again, and he returned his hand from the back of his neck to the suitcase. It was working out; as long as Jin thought he was using him, Jin wouldn’t catch on to the fact that he wasn’t all right.

Hwoarang sighed. He was fine, and this weakness would pass. It had to be a residual effect and an echo that still left him short of air, though he had the good sense to control the reaction and, most importantly, keep Jin unaware of it.

He had to be all right: he had a match tonight. It was the third one for him, after he had cleared Jack-5 with flying colors. The fight had hardly been worth a mention. Jackass had shorted, and after watching the thing pummel its chest and jump around the arena on its ass, Hwoarang had grown bored and unplugged him with a kick. He wasn’t expecting the same this time.

He had gotten the ponytail. A pleased rush invaded his body at the thought. Drunken master or not, Lei Wulong made for a veritable opponent. At will, he could be positively slithering, and Hwoarang was looking forward to paying him back with interest for the Red Room comments. He wondered who his next opponent would be; the fourth match was always important. First things first, though. With a quick cough, which he suppressed forcibly, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he attacked the suitcase with new vigor.

--

He had been away from this far too long. Hwoarang redressed his gloves and waited for Lei Wulong to finish... whatever he was doing. Lei might be a tournament veteran and a reputable cop, but he managed to give the impression he was drunk day in, day out, whether he was pulling his fighting moves or not. After watching Lei sway on his feet and then move sharply into another position and, in turn, sway there, Hwoarang was getting woozy himself.

He surmised Lei was looking to wind him up; the smirks thrown in his direction were an attestation of that. Hwoarang straightened; he wasn’t going to be undignified. Taekwondo would serve him well, and he might have a few moves up his sleeve that hadn’t been part of class teachings.

It was time. The look on Hwoarang’s face hardened, and he punched in the air and bowed. Lei Wulong’s opening performance was more ornamental and much harder to define, and his balance was seemingly compromised.

“Shut up, already,” Hwoarang said in an undertone. He knew better than to fall for that trap. Yet, he wasn’t prepared for Lei’s opening stunt when the bell rang: Lei plunged forward and headbutted him in the gut.

Hwoarang’s hands went to his abdomen with a groan. He hadn’t yet recovered, when Lei swayed in front of him, only to sharpen within a split second and pull himself into a stance. Before Hwoarang could guard himself, Lei had reached forward and struck him in the chest, sending him flying backward.

Hwoarang’s back arched as he fell. Even as his back hit the ground and put a stop on the howl, he knew one thing: this wasn’t the end of it. “Sick son of a bitch!” Lei was already in one of his stances when Hwoarang spun up and removed his hand from his lower back. This time, Hwoarang launched for an offensive: mercilessly, he landed powerful kicks, one after another, on Lei. The first ones, Lei blocked, and he was about to turn the tables, but Hwoarang grit his teeth and forced his mind to block out the pain from his thigh and foot and attack with all the strength he had.

The fourth kick got through Lei’s guard and hit him in the head, where Hwoarang aimed with skill and without visible strain. The fifth kick gave Lei wings, and the flight landed him on the ground with a loud grunt, not unlike the one he had induced from Hwoarang. His head cleared, and through an elaborate pattern that spoke of years of training and very little drinking, detective Lei was back on his feet again. A satisfied look lit his face. His feet never ceased moving.

Hwoarang reciprocated the smirk. This was going to be fun.

--

It was great fun, though Lei Wulong of the Hong Kong Police might not have shared the sentiment at the time. They were evenly matched, and Lei even seemed to have the upper hand until one of his elaborate patterns failed him. Mid-movement, Hwoarang managed a kick to his chest that sent Lei virtually jumping up in the air. That second, Hwoarang knew his moment had come. The moves were so clear to him that Lei’s flight seemed to slow down. He knew how this was going to end.

With practiced ease, like he had all the time in the world, Hwoarang dropped on the ground and braced himself up on one arm; his foot connected to Lei’s midriff; his knee flexed to brace the impact before his joints tensed to an entire new effort and his muscles exploded and thighs sought the support of his body in a massive shove.

The spectators only saw one fluent motion that seemed skillfully choreographed to them. Braced on the ground, Hwoarang caught Lei Wulong mid-flight and sent him flying over his head with a bicycle kick. The travel through the air lasted an impossibly long time and landed Lei on the ground with a thud.

Hwoarang wasn’t in a hurry anymore. He took his time to stand and straighten himself up. As the clock ticked seconds to ruling the fight for a knockout, he made his way over to Lei. Lei was moving weakly and gathering himself together, but he wasn’t going to make it on time.

A wave of satisfaction washed over Hwoarang. A grin, not an entirely pleasant one, flashed across his face. “Looks like you aren’t better than me,” he said and sat down on Lei’s back, earning a moan and an UMPF! “Looks like your special moves ain’t that special.”

Life was good.

--

The euphoria carried well into the evening. Nothing could dampen Hwoarang’s spirits, when he finally strolled to their room freshly showered but in old clothes he sought to be rid of. As he entered the room with a knock, he discovered Jin in bed already. It was dark outside, but the reading lamp, directed to the wall, gave the room just enough light without being harsh on the eyes.

As he entered, Jin looked at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Hwoarang said with a look that mirrored the dark warmth Jin’s eyes cast upon him.

“Well played.”

“Thanks.” Hwoarang was beginning to feel like a downright dope, grinning like a lunatic, but he couldn’t help himself. Luckily, an amused look was playing on Jin’s visage as well, so he wasn’t the only idiot in the room. He pushed the gear bag out of his hands and dug into his suitcase. He found the sweats and the underwear. “I’m just going to change.”

He would have taken it to the bathroom without a second thought, but Jin propped himself up on his elbow and turned on his side to look at him. “Do it here?”

It was a request, and Jin’s voice was suggestive. Hwoarang wasn’t planning to disclose how that vibrating, low voice heated him. “Perv.”

“Still?” Jin sounded pleased with himself.

Hwoarang shot Jin a reproachful look. “Fine.”

Jin looked even more smug in return. He had the perfect sideways view, as Hwoarang kept facing the wall and the suitcase. He removed the goggles. He opened the clips that secured the leather vest at the top and bottom and unzipped the vest. He divested it easily. With a sideways glance at Jin, whose undivided attention he had, he pulled on a fresh sleeveless shirt.

The shoes and straps of his pants took more time, and Jin followed his every movement. Hwoarang pulled the shoes off and arranged them neatly, side by side. His hands went to the belt buckle, which came open with a clank. He unzipped and shed the jeans, which he folded on a chair.

The underpants were next. Jin perked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hwoarang’s shaft. His efforts were rewarded when the member flickered into sight as Hwoarang raised his feet to work his legs out of the old pair and into the new one. Further peeks were not forthcoming, and Jin sank back with a disappointed sigh.

“Pervert.”

“Still.”

The sweatpants were pulled on to secure the important parts, and then Hwoarang was done.

Jin moved toward the wall on the bed and raised the blanket invitingly. It only occurred to Hwoarang then that Jin was naked from the waist up. Jin had taken a break from his trademark shirtlessness when they had started bunking together, but the shirt had been left behind tonight. The raised blanket that had been wrapped around Jin’s waist now revealed the dark, loose pants he wore. It made Hwoarang almost feel overdressed, but he went to the bed and slipped under the blanket, which came to shelter them both from the waist down.

Jin was lying on his side, and Hwoarang faced him. They had space between them, but it was too much for Hwoarang to look Jin in the eye, and he kept exploring Jin’s cheekbones, his nose, and his mouth instead. His eyes roamed anywhere but to Jin’s.

Jin reached a hand and touched the side of his neck shyly. His touch was chaste and light as a feather, but it told Hwoarang everything he needed to know. He realized that maybe he wasn’t the only one at a loss here and perhaps Jin was just as hesitant to explore this. He also realized they both wanted this just as badly.

A smile on his lips--a genuine one this time--Hwoarang leaned forward to kiss Jin. The lips that melded with his were perfect: firm, yet soft. They weren’t unpleasantly wet, but they weren’t too dry, either. He broke the kiss with a soft smack and started another one, savoring the feel and Jin’s closeness and scent. Jin tasted good.

He reached a hand to Jin’s bare chest and felt Jin’s skin shiver under his touch. He waited to see if Jin was fine with it. When the soft, inviting moan came, he began to trace his pectoral muscles with his fingertips. Jin felt good.

They inched closer. Their position was slightly awkward, as they lay on their sides, face to face. Yet, little by little, the tender kisses deepened, and Hwoarang’s hands were bolder to caress Jin’s chest. In turn, Jin’s fingers slipped under Hwoarang’s shirt and felt their way up his stomach muscles to his chest, the entire time careful, as though expecting the permission to explore to be revoked any time. By the time his inquisitive fingers traced the pectorals and found that caressing the nipples produced surprising results, their quiet exploration was not so quiet anymore. Small pants and gasps guided them, and the barriers were coming down with a crumple.

Hwoarang pulled back, savoring the taste of Jin’s tongue on his. “Let me switch sides. Okay?”

Jin gave his consent and turned on his back to allow Hwoarang to skip over. Hwoarang was midway over when he realized he was straddling Jin, his groin straight above Jin’s crotch. Jin was lying flat on his back beneath him, gazing up at him. He wondered how Jin felt about being under him. He lowered himself into a sitting position, while keeping a careful eye on Jin, but Jin’s eyes shone star-bright up at him.

Hwoarang reached forward and bent down to kiss Jin. Jin’s hands went up, but Hwoarang caught his arms by the wrists and brought them above his head. He explored his mouth gently and then released his hold, bracing himself against the bed instead. Jin smiled at him.

Jin’s hands went to Hwoarang’s sides and slid down to the waistband of his sweats. He pried the band open just enough to pull the last of the shirt hem out. As Hwoarang kept leaning over him with a kiss and rocked back and forth experimentally, Jin edged his shirt up and broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt off and mush it into a ball he threw aside.

Shirtless now, still straddling Jin’s crotch, Hwoarang gave Jin a light peck before dropping onto his side, his back against the wall. Their mutual exploration resumed.

Hwoarang’s fingers were playing with Jin’s waistband. They ended a kiss, and Hwoarang pulled back. He pressed his palm onto Jin’s chest. Slowly, he began to slide it down. The full press of the palm turned to a caress of his fingertips as he traced a line down to Jin’s navel. They lingered there a moment and continued a course down the treasure trail until they met the waistband of his pants. Hwoarang looked Jin in the eye.

He traced his fingers down all the way along the front of Jin’s pants. His touch was so light, he barely even felt the fabric brush against his fingertips, let alone anything underneath. He was asking for permission.

Jin’s eyes followed the travel of his fingers, sought Hwoarang’s for a moment, and then looked down to where the fingers lingered. Hwoarang felt they were still engaged in power games, where the asking and admission equaled to being the weaker party. Jin didn’t share his notion. “Please,” he breathed.

Hwoarang’s hand remained transfixed where it was. His chest heaved. He retracted his hand from the front of Jin’s pants and nudged his shoulder. “On your back,” he mumbled in a shockingly steady voice.

Jin obliged and turned from his side onto his back. His eyes flickered briefly at Hwoarang before he closed them and arched back. Jin had beautiful eyes, Hwoarang realized: bedroom eyes. He moved closer and now realized the full advantage of his side switch: it had left his right hand completely free.

On his back, Jin waited calmly. Hwoarang’s hand landed on his chest and drew a circle. His lips sought Jin’s and connected with them briefly as he traced his hand down Jin’s stomach and to his waistband. “You’re sure?”

Jin nodded wordlessly and leaned back.

Hwoarang pried the waistband looser and slipped a hand under it. He moved his hand down the surface of the underpants until... there. Right there. Hwoarang’s hand found Jin’s perfectly aligned, silken length and slid along it. The most inessential things sprung to his mind, like the rasping noises his fingertips made as they grated against the stretchy cloth.

With a bump, his journey came to an end. Hwoarang slid his hand all the way down and cupped Jin’s package. Jin’s breathing sounded in his ears, heavy and anticipatory. Hwoarang luxuriated in the full feel in his hand, and his head nodded toward Jin’s chest. Wisps of red landed to tease the skin there.

He retracted his hand, but only to the rim of the boxer briefs. A sideways glance revealed that Jin was arching, exposing his neck and enjoying himself, his eyes closed. Hwoarang slipped a hand in. He maneuvered along the skin and through the fine furring and onto the shaft and curled his fingers around it. He strained his upper body to plant a kiss on Jin’s lips. Coordination proved to be troublesome, and his aim missed and went to the side of Jin’s mouth. He could feel their mutual smiles and Jin’s lips seeking his in the same uncoordinated manner. They shared a kiss, and then Hwoarang decided he should focus on the matters at hand.

The shaft in his grasp wasn’t soft anymore. It wasn’t his, but he knew what to do with it.

Hwoarang nudged the blanket off and pushed all clothing aside, exposing Jin. He grabbed a hearty hold of Jin’s length and started stroking. The half-mast salute morphed into a full-blown erection, and Hwoarang’s pride swelled. His assurance picked off with every throaty pant and involuntary, encouraging gasp of Jin’s, and they emboldened him to pick up speed, his grasp slicker now. Jin wasn’t the only one enjoying this; he had a firm appreciation for the length trapped in his fist.

The noises Jin was making intensified, and Hwoarang grinned to himself. The peak was near.

Mid-stroke, Jin’s entire body tensed. Nothing held back the heated pulsating that coursed through his lower body and the feeling of overpowering euphoria. Heat rose only to his face, and yet spread all over his body.

Drops coated Hwoarang’s hand, but he kept his hold and milked Jin gently. He continued the lazy strokes as the eruption passed, and Jin calmed down. Only then did he venture a look at Jin’s face. He saw bliss.

Hwoarang’s lips curled, and he dropped his mouth on Jin’s chest and planted a kiss there. He still held onto Jin’s length, his caresses now soothing, affectionate.

Jin was back with the living. He lifted his head up from the bed and smiled at Hwoarang.

“That’s going to be a bitch to clean up,” Hwoarang murmured.

Jin laughed shortly. When Hwoarang finally released him and pulled himself straight and against his side, he craned and planted a kiss on top of the red hair. It hit him that a hand was on his chest. “You did not just wipe your hand in my pants...,” he said suspiciously. He didn’t like the answering chuckle he got, but he couldn’t have cared less. “I’m going to need a shower,” he said with a sigh.

He was sad to leave the sated embrace, but he disentangled himself and pulled his pants up with a grimace. “I’m going to wash these.” He scowled at Hwoarang, who was now the one lying on his side on the bed, looking smug. “And you can stop that.”

The grin, if possible, grew brighter.

Jin shot him a nasty look that lacked any substantial threat. He searched for his towel and toiletries and slipped his shoes on. It was late at night, and he was decent enough to make the trip to the showers. Before leaving, he turned at Hwoarang, who returned the gaze. “Join me?”

--

The locker room was empty when Hwoarang entered it. His stroll down to the showers had been uninterrupted, and the house was hauntingly silent. After Jin had left with a repeated request for company, Hwoarang had lain still for a few minutes and given Jin a head start.

Now, as he looked around in the room full of empty lockers and open doors, he saw one that held Jin’s belongings. It hadn’t been necessary to secure the locker; they were the only ones up and about at this hour. He spotted wet clothes hanging: apparently, Jin had already rinsed or washed them. Feeling surreal, Hwoarang started removing his clothes.

He emerged into the showers with a towel wrapped around his waist the moment Jin was returning to the locker room. Jin was running his fingers through his hair, which spiked in glistening strands of black. His other hand held a towel in front of his crotch. At the sight of him, Jin stopped. He looked pleased.

Jin was dripping wet and smiling that enigmatic non-smile of his. He dropped the hand from his hair. The hand that held the towel went to the side, and the towel was dropped on the ground. Jin stood still, baring his all.

Hwoarang gulped. His eyes went to Jin’s, but he averted them quickly. They traveled down the well-sculpted chest. His breathing became labored the further southward his gaze went. It had to be all in his head, or otherwise the whole world would have heard how the blood rushed in his veins. He hesitated around the navel. Even though he wanted to look, it didn’t feel right to stare. He was able to push past the conventions of manners: Jin had given him permission. Jin was giving him permission.

He looked at the area that interested him the most, and even found the strength to take the tour all the way down. On his way back up, his gaze lingered on the privates, which Jin noted without further ado.

Jin was perfect, down to the tip of his penis. His build was symmetric, and physique asymmetric, the perfect way, where it counted. Hwoarang didn’t know how he himself measured against perfection, and he was growing self-unconscious.

He would not be intimidated. He brought a hand to his waist, unwrapped the towel, and cast it aside. Then he waited, his head held up high and proud.

Jin’s eyes roamed all around upper body until they settled on his stomach and traveled down. Once he got to the crotch, he stared shamelessly, unlike Hwoarang. He took in the rest of Hwoarang’s figure, but his eyes returned to the spot. Hwoarang felt like strangling him, until Jin spoke, his voice warm. “Niiiice.”

Jin held out his hands. Hwoarang accepted the invitation and approached until Jin’s hands landed on his flanks and their heads tilted into a kiss. The palms glided further down to his waistline and held on, as Jin kissed him deeply. Slowly, Jin’s hands encircled him and pulled him closer, until the fronts of their bodies connected.

It was a public shower, and anyone could have walked in on them as they stood locked in a wet embrace. Luckily, no outsiders came that night.

Galactic thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!

Originally published June 25, 2009.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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