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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.

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Hwarang is an emulation of the native Korean pronunciation of Hwoarang. Sa bum nim means master or instructor.

--

Chapter 8: Baek Doo San

“Oh, no you don’t!” Despite objecting, Hwoarang couldn’t stop laughing as he and Jin wrestled on the bed, Jin intent on grabbing him, and he intent on diverting Jin. Not that he minded Jin’s attempt to slide his hand down to the front of his pants and reciprocate for the earlier, but--as a question of principle--he had to protest some.

With the momentary distraction on his side, Jin finally succeeded in seizing a steady hold of Hwoarang and capturing him in his arms. His more subdued chuckling resonated with Hwoarang’s as he held on, and Hwoarang finally eased into the touch and let himself be spooned. Satisfied, Jin snuggled closer and brought a hand to Hwoarang’s stomach, waiting to see if it would be swatted away. It wasn’t, and Hwoarang’s craned his neck back toward him. Jin caressed him, each stroke of his hand more assuaging and brushing lower than the last.

The noise from next door stopped them short. The debauchery had been low-key, but now it was back with a vengeance. Hearing the sounds, Jin froze.

Hwoarang felt Jin tense behind him and bring to a grinding halt the nice things he had been up to. So much for not caring what went on with Kazuya and company. Carefully, Hwoarang pried loose from Jin’s arms and turned on the other side to face Jin. When Jin finally looked at him, Hwoarang cracked a comforting smile. “Just ignore it,” he said as he ran a hand at the back of Jin’s neck.

Jin looked distressed despite his efforts, but Hwoarang wouldn’t give up. “Hey--” He caressed Jin’s face. “We can do better than that.” We are better than they. The change wasn’t instant, but eventually Jin gave him a wan twitch of his lips, and Hwoarang flashed a grin back at him.

The penetrating moan from behind the wall was too much, and they both shuddered. “For Chrissakes...,” Hwoarang mumbled in embarrassment and rose like shot. A quick stride and very little warning preceded Hwoarang launching two vicious kicks on the wall, and this time, it was the wall that shuddered. “Bunch of sickos,” he mumbled to himself as he leaned a hand on the wall. He was drawing heavy breaths and hanging his head down, and only remotely sensed Jin getting up from the bed. He became truly aware of Jin only when Jin stepped behind him and embraced him. The embrace wasn’t about sexing him up; it was about comfort and affection, and Hwoarang leaned into it willingly.

They only had each other. Hwoarang had thought about it before, and every time he did, he became more convinced that they were up against the world, with only each other to depend on.

Without any family ties to speak of and everyone else gone.... As Hwoarang trembled involuntarily and felt Jin clasp onto him tighter and press a cheek against his back wordlessly, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe Jin felt the same way, too. As he felt Jin hold him--or, rather, hold onto him--his impression only strengthened. If only the circumstances had been on their side and this damn tournament had been over already.... “Wish we could go away...,” he said to himself.

“Hm?”

“Let’s take a day off,” Hwoarang said suddenly. “Get the hell away from here, from this tournament. Just for a day. Go away, anywhere. It’s not like we had matches every day.” His voice was taking an appealing note. The whimsical idea felt suddenly so crucial, and the thought that Jin might not want the same thing was frightening, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

Jin’s lack of response was driving nails into his guts, but it was only in his head. In truth, Jin lifted his head from his back, the expression on his face unreadable. He held on even tighter when he finally said, in a dejected tone, “I can’t. I have to-- This tournament... it’s too important. I have to be here.”

Jin didn’t want the same thing and was trying to let him off the hook easily. It was a kick in the gut, but Hwoarang tried not to show how it had shattered him. “Sure,” he said, reaching for a normal voice. “It’s not-- it’s fine.” Damn, he was stuttering again. Jin had rubbed off on him already.

Jin tightened his hold. ”Hwoarang, I must see this through. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to go,” he spoke right next to Hwoarang’s ear. Hwoarang wanted to bristle away, but Jin wouldn’t let him go. Hwoarang couldn’t know the stakes, but he couldn’t let him get the wrong idea. Jin’s arms were unyieldingly strong as he reached forward and planted a row of kisses along Hwoarang’s neck. Hwoarang was tense at first, but Jin’s relentlessness paid off, and he finally relaxed under the shower of affection. “Once this is over...,” Jin started, and Hwoarang tensed involuntarily, “I’d like to go with you more than anything. Anywhere.”

A moment ago, Hwoarang had been in the grips of humiliation from feeling rejected. Now, Jin had reversed the tables, and the feeling had vanished. He was growing hot all over from being desired and wanted and a dozen other things, all of which were bringing a revealing heat to his face and inciting him on the inside. “Mm-mm....”

He hadn’t meant to make his acceptance so obvious, but Jin grinned triumphantly and delved into tracing his neck with his lips. Hwoarang lay back heavily, bracing himself against the wall with his hand, and accepted the attention. Eventually, they returned to a comforting, friendly embrace.

Not that friendly. “HEY.”

“Yes?” Jin asked and raised a brow at Hwoarang, who had turned his head with a glare.

“Don’t you dare.”

“What?”

Hwoarang’s eyes narrowed. “You know what.”

Jin didn’t look too sorry, and he failed to sound apologetic, too. “You mean this?” he said and, moving to grasp Hwoarang’s hips, bumped his own into Hwoarang’s rear again.

Hwoarang moaned despite himself before remembering to glare at Jin, who returned his look with a non-smile, all too pleased with himself. Hwoarang quickly suppressed the smirk that threatened to surface, but he was too late, and Jin spotted the look. The game was hopelessly lost, and Jin looked smug.

“Go to bed?” Jin suggested.

Hwoarang agreed and detached himself. On the way, he announced, “You’re in front.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust my ass with you,” Hwoarang said with a growl and settled on the bed first, on his side, waiting for Jin to descend into his arms.

“It’s a very nice ass,” Jin tried, conciliatory.

“Don’t you dare.”

Jin sighed, but he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed. Before he settled, he bent down and kissed the slightly resisting Hwoarang deeply. Their lips came apart with a breathless smack, and then Jin obediently lay on his side and waited for Hwoarang to snuggle him. “Good night?” he tried.

“Shut the hell up and sleep, Kazama.”

--

He was late. At the least, he was cutting it close to make it to the match. He had woken with a stiff shoulder, and Jin had offered to give him a massage. Thinking the guy must have ulterior motives, he had accepted.

As it turned out, Jin had really been offering him a massage, which meant he now had a usable shoulder but he was going to the fight unprepared. Once he had realized the time, he had thrown the gear on in a hurry and donned a fresh uniform. It was all Jin’s fault that his muscles had jammed. He was there to be cuddled, after all.

Hwoarang breathed deeply. He had to clear his mind and calm down for the fight. He didn’t even know his opponent’s name and had to go in cold. At least he had the location right, and for the rest, he had to rely on his skills and mad intuition to improvise.

Hwoarang made it to the stage, a pseudo-ancient structure of ballast and monuments of stone... and stopped dead in his tracks. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t possible.

But then the hallucination spoke, and the impossible became his nightmare of a reality. “Why are you here, Hwarang?”

Hwoarang could only gape at the very live, very real Baek Doo San, who looked at him with a deep frown. “Wha-- how....” He shut his mouth abruptly. What did Baek mean, why was he here? Why was Baek here? How--

“Answer me,” Baek said sharply.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make one bit of goddamn sense. “Master, I don’t understand. I don’t--” He couldn’t understand any of this, and Hwoarang tried desperately make sense of this. “Master, why--?”

The bell rang, and the look in Baek’s eyes hardened. “You are late, Hwarang. We will discuss this after the match. Fight me first.” Hwoarang had no time to think before Baek launched into a run and finished it off with a kick. “Are you ready?”

Ready? Ready for what? Hwoarang felt like an outsider in his own skin. He felt like he was watching a surreal, grotesque, and cruel play unfold before his eyes. His expression didn’t betray the bedlam he was in; he still mastered the chaos to the outside eye.

He had to fight Baek. For a moment, Hwoarang considered throwing in the towel and beseeching the master for an explanation, but quitting wasn’t in his nature. He couldn’t let go of the tournament like that.... His chest hurt like the devil under Baek’s searing gaze, but he punched in the air and bowed, and the match was allowed to commence.

The name of the game became clear with the opening move. Hwoarang didn’t want to start, and he didn’t think to guard himself well enough; Baek landed a strike straight into his stomach, to the same spot Lei Wulong had hit. Hwoarang doubled over with a strangled cry and clutched his midriff. He couldn’t lift his gaze for a moment, and missed the fleeting, hesitant look Baek gave him. He heard Baek’s voice somewhere above him when the instructor spoke, but he didn’t catch the quieter tone.

“If you will be in this tournament, you will fight properly. Rise and face me, Hwoarang.”

Baek gave him an extra moment to recover, but then he launched for an attack, and Hwoarang found himself blocking Baek’s kicks with difficulty. The master was fighting him for real.... Hwoarang’s heart sank further at the realization, and the carelessness cost him: Baek raised a foot to his abdomen and charged him, landing a combination of throw and kick that sent Hwoarang into the air. He hit the rocky ground dangerously and rolled backward, landing face flat.

The pain didn’t anger him, and it didn’t make him snap. Yet, as Hwoarang rose to his feet and looked Baek for a sign of something familiar and friendly--anything to tell him that this was only show to benefit the masses--and found none, he knew he’d pave his way to hell and fight back. Baek approached him again, strangely keen on the offensive rather than the defensive, the value of which he had time and again tried to instill in his students.

Hwoarang let him get close. As he blocked Baek’s raised hand and grasped him by the arm, surprising his opponent as much as the audience, it was too late for Baek to counter him. Not even the brief moment when Hwoarang closed his eyes could distract the throw inculcated into his spine. Forgive me. Then Hwoarang spun around and landed a vicious kick at the back of Baek’s neck, sending him headfirst onto the ground.

Hwoarang bounced on his feet, keeping up the momentum, and waited for Baek to rise.... His brain was a jumbled mess, and the confused numbness was as painful as his aching gut.

Baek rose and took a stance that closely mirrored Hwoarang’s, only his momentum had less bounce and his manner had seasoned sense to counter the raw pain of youth. Even as Hwoarang hoped that Baek would back down, that either of them would still withdraw from the match, Baek set out into a masterful combination of punches and kicks, which Hwoarang knew how to block save the last one, which hit him on the leg and took him down.

He diverted Baek’s raised foot quickly, and instead, set out in an attack of his own, landing kick after kick on the instructor. The emotions were back, and he wished Baek would block him better. He spun around for a roundhouse kick that finished the form, and the sheer momentum overcame Baek’s defense easily, sending him on his back onto the ground. Still Baek rose, and somewhere inside, Hwoarang’s heart bled.

The next move was instinct and a gamble. As Baek rose once more and approached him, Hwoarang spun off his feet and formed an upturned V in the air. The risky move paid off, and Hwoarang’s foot landed Baek’s face without hindrance. Baek fell on the ground and remained there.

Baek still remained on the ground. Hwoarang waited further back, but as seconds passed, a look of incomprehension rose on his face. Suddenly, the bell rang and he was announced the winner through knockout. He had won.

But... how? He couldn’t comprehend it. “Master?”

Baek didn’t respond to him.

“Sa bum nim? Sa bum nim,” Hwoarang pleaded. He remained transfixed on the spot, staring at Baek in shock. He couldn’t go over to him; this was still the tournament, and he had to abide by the code.

The medics approached, unfazed. It sunk in that the cameras were still rolling and, to everyone else, this was all a show of grandeur and great entertainment. They were waiting for him to finish. Hwoarang executed his forms automatically and saluted the opponent. He bowed and brought his hand to his stomach as he did.

They were expecting him to clear the arena. It was a clean victory, and he had no reason to linger. Baek still hadn’t risen, and the medics were setting him on a stretcher.

Even though his guts were wrenching, Hwoarang turned and left. His expression was as blank and forbidding as it had been through the match, and it would have taken a close acquaintance to discern the emotions that ran behind a mask. His mind was racing. Baek was alive.... Baek lived, and was angry with him. How was it possible? What had he done?

The pathway looked watery in his eyes, but Hwoarang kept going. He had to get out of sight of cameras and from all those meaningless people. The commotion faded away, and he knew he would be alone until he would take the transportation back to the house. Hwoarang finally let himself blink several times until his sight cleared. He ran a hand through his hair roughly and rubbed a hand on the side of his face suspiciously close to the corner of his eye. Why? What did I do wrong? What did I do?

Why didn’t you tell me you were alive?

Hwoarang drew a wheezy breath and blamed it on the fight instantly. It was just from the fucking exercise; he’d have to get a grip, or people would notice.... He blinked rapidly; the landing pad was already in sight. He coughed his throat clear and strode straight into the helicopter. The wind from the helicopter pads penetrated his soaked hair and froze it onto his skull unpleasantly, and his eyes, unnaturally bright, had an oddly reddish shade to them, but it didn’t make a difference to anyone.

--

He made it to the house without breaking down and rushed straight to his room. It barely registered how he brushed against someone and nearly knocked the other party over, earning an indignant, “Hey, mate!” He missed entirely how someone called after him.

The room was empty when Hwoarang stormed inside, and that was the way he wanted it. He slammed the door and flung himself onto the bed. He jerked the covers onto himself and buried himself in them, his back to the door. His stomach gave a nasty twinge, and he pulled his feet closer to his chest. Then, there was nothing for him to do but calm down.

The shaking caught him by surprise, or maybe he should have seen it coming; it fit the lousy tournament like a glove. Still, he hunched to himself more, made sure he was covered in full and as warm as possible, and tried to forget.

Hwoarang startled awake. He had dozed off, but it was still an early morning. He was fight-soaked, and... on cue, the hurt was back. He had the room to himself, but it didn’t stop him from feeling cornered. He had to get out. Dulled, he pulled out a fresh change and personal items and headed for the showers.

--

Hwoarang was pushing his bike along the driveway, still not quite grasping his surroundings, when a familiar presence was suddenly beside him.

“Hwoarang. Wait.”

It was Jin. Of course it was Jin; it always was. Jin was calling him by name, too.... Hwoarang stopped unconsciously.

“Where are you going?” Jin was slightly out of breath.

The pebbles on the ground were too interesting. Hwoarang couldn’t tear his eyes off them, even though he tried weakly to face Jin or at least speak in his general direction. “I’m gonna go to the city. Take a break from this.” His voice sounded dull even in his own ears, and he pulled up straight. “Will you come? For one day. I’m gonna go in any case, even... even if you don’t.”

Jin appeared to be rooted to the spot, but his lack of response was answer enough for Hwoarang, who hung his head and turned away, miserable.

“I guess I’ll see--”

Jin couldn’t let this misunderstanding brew. “I’ll come with you,” he said earnestly.

Cordial thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!

Originally published July 30, 2009.
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Intimate Rivals