Author's Notes: There is some racist content in this chapter, but it is in NO WAY promoting racist behaviour, in fact, I am EXTREMELY against that crap.

**Disclaimer**: Tekken isn’t mine yet.

Stuck In My Ways

Chapter 5 - Love Liked Me

By Chlover

“Kneel,” Kazuya ordered, approaching the stunned redhead.

Unbelievable. Was this really what he wanted? Hwoarang watched the whip carefully, wondering what it would feel like to be hit with it. He purposely made no move to obey. The hunger was too intense. Too painful to just listen to the dominant male.

Kazuya backhanded the Korean and repeated his order, “Kneel, boy.”

The stinging pain from the blow was beautiful. Hwoarang was far too seduced to argue. He kneeled in front of the older man, hoping that the whip wasn’t just for show. The pants Hwoarang was wearing were ice, from being in the cold when they were wet. Kneeling into them was painful on his knees, but there were no complaints from him.

The older man unzipped his own pinstriped slacks. He gently ran his hands through the fiery hair before yanking the Korean’s head back and peering into those enchanting, dark eyes. The pain was visible, but welcomed. Kazuya leaned over and took the younger man in a hungry kiss. He could tell his companion was growing impatient. It was time to make it painful, for he had no desire to lose his young lover’s interest.

Kazuya straightened himself and nodded down, allowing his eyes to speak for him. Hwoarang shuffled closer to the older man, and took the exposed length into his mouth. The flesh was delicious. So delicious. Hwoarang sucked hard, desperately trying to consume every last taste of his lover’s skin. Kazuya groaned, putting the whip over his shoulder so he wouldn’t drop it. His knees locked, somehow keeping him standing. Snow piled on the skylight, making the room a little darker then usual.

It was too much. Way too much. The older man moaned louder, having trouble handling Hwoarang’s desperate hunger. He pulled himself out of the hungry mouth, and pulled the Korean up by the hair. “This time,” Kazuya assured, trying to keep his voice steady, “There will be no gag muffling your screams.”

Hwoarang wrapped his fingers around his companion’s shaft, “Why’d you make me stop? Am I too much for you, gramps?”

Some people were good at not letting such taunts get to them. Kazuya was normally one of those people, but it wasn’t a normal situation. The older man shoved Hwoarang’s back against a wall, smirking as the redhead cried out as his old wounds hit the cold cement wall. The dark enchanting eyes were squeezed shut as he slid down to the floor.

Kazuya snapped the whip with perfect control, inches from the Korean’s nose. “Get up.”

At first, Hwoarang made no move to obey, but he opened his eyes and took one longing look at the whip and complied. Why did he have to wait? Why did that old man have to play mind games with him? His back was burning despite the cool of the walls. It was screaming to him to just jump into the snow, but Hwoarang wanted something else. He wanted to get his mind off it.

The whip snapped against the Korean’s chest, drawing a neat little thin crimson line. Hwoarang barely felt it through his other pains. Kazuya flicked his wrist again, drawing a longer, deeper line, diagonally across most of the Korean’s torso. It took a few seconds for the wound to start bleeding. Hwoarang watched with twisted fascination as the red beads started to grow inside his broken skin. Another snap, and matching line spread opposite to the previous one, meeting at the middle. Finally Hwoarang gasped, the fresh pain finally hitting his desperate mind.

Kazuya licked his lip suggestively as he pulled off the Korean’s icy pants. He would make the boy cry. No. He’d save the crying for the next encounter.

Without preparing the already pained entrance, Kazuya lifted Hwoarang’s legs and forced his hardened manhood into his companion. That was more then enough to promote the first scream of the night. Hwoarang squirmed, and tightened, trying to relieve some of his own pain. Maybe jumping in the snow was the better of the ideas after all. The pain was too much. Kazuya remained still for a few moments, knowing too much pain at once would only scare his new lover away. Of course he wanted to scare the boy, he just didn’t want to repel him.

Hwoarang clung to his partner, not wanting his back to touch the wall anymore. His torso was stinging from both sides and being impaled by the older man just added to it. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears slowly escaping. He knew he asked for it, but he hadn’t expected to get it all at once. All the pain… It hurt too much. “Stop,” Hwoarang gasped, “Please, stop.”

Obeying would be too easy. Far too easy. Sometimes all it took was a little convincing. Kazuya ignored his lover’s pleas, and began to thrust. Pushing Hwoarang’s back against the wall, slowly at first. “Do not worry my young pet,” He cooed, “The pain will evolve eventually.”

“Stop it,” Hwoarang pleaded again, his eyes remaining closed.

Kazuya met the plea with harder thrusts, mocking the young boy, “You don’t want that and neither do I.”

“Fucking stop it!” Hwoarang cried out, struggling to get out of Kazuya’s grasp, “Let go of me. Get the fuck out of me, you fucking bastard.”

“If I recall correctly,” Kazuya grunted, thrusting more violently, “You wanted pain. Now you got pain, and you don’t want it anymore? Hasn’t anyone told you to be careful what you wish for? Well now you got it and I won’t let you take it back.” Kazuya moaned as the younger man cried out as he tightened, “I am what you wished for, and you will not deny me.”

Hwoarang’s breathing trembled as he panted along with the painful thrusts. It was useless to fight. It only hurt more. After a few excruciating moments, the pain started to dissipate. It started to feel good again. It wasn’t long before Hwoarang became aroused. Kazuya jerked as he released himself into his companion’s depths. He kept himself still as his unpredictable convulsing body threatened to knock him off his feet.

Kazuya pulled himself out of the Korean, and noticed the hardening member against his stomach. Once he had the chance, Hwoarang moved away, wincing at the returning pain. His pride had been crushed, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Kazuya pressed the redhead against the wall, got to his knees, and took the Korean in his mouth.

Hwoarang bit back a relieved moan. Was he giving in by allowing the older man to do that? Did it matter? Who would be the one to lose if he pushed Kazuya away? Hwoarang stayed silent. He figured he could let it happen as long as he didn’t make any move to admit he liked it. Within seconds, such thoughts disappeared. The world disappeared. Nothing was left except him and the Japanese devil.

The sky was bright under a waning moon. So many stars. The universe was vast, full of possibilities. It was a shame Baek Doo San couldn’t see that American sky. Maybe he could. Maybe Baek was right there next to Hwoarang, admiring the exact same stars. Baek would probably be able to point out the constellations too.

Kazuya stepped out of the building and found a seat in the snow next to the Korean. The older man noted Hwoarang’s refusal to meet his eyes. “Hwoarang,” He said quietly, “I’ll apologise if that’s what you want, but it will be insincere.”

“Fuck you.”

“I wish you would.”

Hwoarang shot Kazuya a nasty look before turning his attention back to the sky. So many possibilities, and he had no idea what to aim for. What did he want? “Mishima-san… No offence, but would you please get the fuck away from me?”

Kazuya laughed, “I just want to ask you something. May I?” When Hwoarang didn’t reply, Kazuya took it as a go sign, “I don’t mean to get too personal, but do you love Julia?”

“What kind of fucking question is that? Why the fuck do you care?”

“Young love fascinates me. Perhaps underneath it all, I miss my youth. Have you ever been in love?”

Hwoarang looked at Kazuya in disgust, “Who the fuck do you think I am? No I haven’t been in love. I’m only fucking 22. I’d sooner cut my own balls off then fall into one of those traps.” He paused and looked down at his hands, “I assume you have?”

Kazuya smiled to himself as he gazed over the field of snow, “Love liked me long ago. I didn’t deserve it, but it found me. Jun Kazama was beautiful. She seen something in me that I didn’t even know was there. Of course, I didn’t really know that I loved her until I found myself falling into an active volcano, but by then it was too late. And now she’s dead.”

Hwoarang shook his head, “Well Love must hate my fucking guts. Julia doesn’t love me. She loves the ideal. The bitch even wanted me to dye my fucking hair!” He leaned back and lay sprawled out comfortably across the snow, letting the cold seep through his shirt and sooth his wounds, “If you wanna be a chick and talk about this shit, can we please have a fucking subject change?”

“Why are you still with her?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Alcohol would numb the pain. Alcohol would numb everything. Numb life. Who needs life? Life fucking sucks. Life is supposed to suck. C’est la vie. So why are people so obsessed with holding on to it if it sucked so much? Why do people want what they don’t like? Why do they want me?

Hwoarang walked into a small bar. A few young farmer men eyed him suspiciously from a pool table in the back. They looked about his age, only more hygienically impaired. He ignored them and headed for the counter. Damn. The bartender look even more like a hillbilly then the rest of them. Hwoarang knew the man’s hand was under the counter, stroking a shotgun.

Being surrounded by a bunch of ignorant white men wasn’t exactly Hwoarang’s ideal environment, but he’d do just about anything for some alcohol. He placed his hands on the bar and looked the bartender in the eye with a deadly glare. “Vodka.”

“Will that be all, chink?”

Hwoarang’s jaw dropped in shock, “What the fuck did you call me?”

“Chink.” The bartender smiled sweetly, and beamed as the group of men in the back snickered. Hwoarang cringed his teeth, not wanting to get into trouble in his current shape.

He licked his dry lips, and spoke slowly and calmly, “First of all, I’m not Chinese; second of all, I asked for a Vodka, third of all, I would have thought your ignorant inbred ass could have come up with something better then that. Now, my vodka, please.”

The bartender shook his head, “It’s my right to refuse service,” He smirked.

Hwoarang rolled his eyes, and said with a back hills accent, “Well I reckon we need to get you a banjo so we can celebrate this here right.” And turned to head out the door.

The guys, who were once in the back, somehow found their way to block the door. Hwoarang sighed in annoyance and crossed his arms across his chest, ignoring the pain it caused. The boys snickered again and whispered to each other. Maybe he should have stuck with going to the liquor store. Why did he always have to make the wrong decisions?

“I told you he was a Jap,” One of the guys said to his friend, “He’s got that Bamboo coon look about him,”

Hwoarang didn’t hold back. He grabbed the guy by the collar and punched him square in the nose, “You fucking racist bastard! When you’re going to insult me, the least you could do is do it well. And I’m not Japanese either, you fucking moron.” He punched the guy again.

Within seconds, the other guys leaped on Hwoarang, knocking him to the floor in a series of weak punches and kicks to the ribs. The Korean stayed still for a few moments, gathering his mind together, and swept his foot under three of the five, knocking them down and climbing back to his feet. He went directly into a kicking combo, taking out two of them. The other three got back up and attacked, spreading out.

A knife was pulled out, and sliced Hwoarang’s forearm. He grabbed one of the other guy’s arms, and reached his foot up, snapping the guy’s neck. The guy on his other side gasped and ran out the door, leaving the redhead with the guy with the knife. Hwoarang made one swift movement, and the guy was on the ground, and the knife was in Hwoarang’s hand. He stood over his new friend and licked his own blood off the knife.

Before he could walk out again, two officers stepped in and immediately shoved him face first against a wall. He hissed through his teeth on impact, his whip wounds stinging like hell. The cops cuffed him and roughly lead him out of the bar, one of them lazily reading him his rights.

“This is a bad day,” Hwoarang whined to himself in the empty cell. A cop sat across the room at a big desk, doing some paperwork. He was fat and bald. Obviously a donut pusher. “Hey pig,” Hwoarang barked, “Can I have another phone call?”

The cop ignored him.

Just as Hwoarang was ready to take a bit of a nap, there was a chime as the door to the building opened. In walked Julia and Sarah. Hwoarang cursed under his breath, “Why the fuck did you bring her here? Do you enjoy displaying me at my most pathetic?”

“Hwoarang what happened this time?” Julia sighed.

“The racist bastards called me a bamboo coon. What the fuck do you expect me to do? Give em a hug? Come on Julia, give me a fucking break.”

She turned red, obviously angry with him, “You could have killed one of them! He’s in the hospital with a nearly broken neck!”

“He fucking attacked me first. Yeah ok, I punched his friend, but it had nothing to do with him! He could have broken my fucking ribs with his damn boot!” He paused and looked away, “But I can hardly expect you to understand. If you’re just here to lecture me, please, spare me this bullshit.”

“Hwoarang if I bail you out, it’ll be out of the money I planned on putting into my reforestation project. Do you see how this is crippling me?”

Hwoarang rolled his eyes, “I didn’t ask you to bail me out. I called you so you wouldn’t think I took off because I was angry. Honestly, right now, I would prefer if you left me here. I’m not in the mood to get in a fight with you too.”

Julia glared at him and turned around, stomping out the door and pulling her friend along with her, “Maybe after a few days in here, you’ll come to your senses and decide to do things responsibly.”

“Yeah well you may not be to happy with those responsible decisions either, toots,” He called after her, and winced as the slamming door came in response.

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