DISCLAIMER: Pouty-lip boy and Swearing-boy are not owned by me. Neither is Psycho-Man. Sue me, gain nothing but my bills, as that is all I have to my name. Takes place sometime after Tekken 3, before Tekken 4.

Thicker Than Water


By Keishi

Kazuya's hands wrapped themselves around Jin's throat, pressing, squeezing the life slowly out of his son. Jin tried to cough, tried to pry his resurrected father's fingers away, but they wouldn't budge.

"You know what they say, don't you, Jinny boy? Blood is thicker than water." Kazuya's eyes were glowing, crazed. "Well, ours is especially thicker... my son," he continued, laughing at Jin's futile attempts to free himself.

Jin's vision was spotted, becoming darker by the second. He stopped trying to help himself, and instead focused on taking Kazuya down with him. He reached out with his hands and wrapped them around his father's own throat. The demon laughed.

"You think you can kill me, too? Well, go ahead and try." Kazuya's voice was none the worse for the pressure Jin's thumb was putting on his windpipe, and Mishima's hold just tightened, forcing the air out of Jin's lungs for the umpteenth time. Jin drew a strangled, pained breath, amazed that he could. He squeezed harder.

Kazuya chuckled again. "Though, I'm doing you a favor, _son_. You see, Heihachi, the bastard, wants you alive. He wants your blood. Well, its not very valuable if you're dead, now is it?" Jin struggled anew against this revelation, and Kazuya was forced to remove one hand to smack his son across the face, marking his cheek. "Hold still so I can properly kill you! Death is preferable to what that bastard will do once he gets his hands on you!" The blows struck harder, making Jin's head spin. The hand around his throat seemed to lengthen, crushing his windpipe, effectively strangling him. Jin's hands slid bonelessly to his side as blackness finally overtook him. The last image he saw was of his father's eyes. They were red.

Jin woke gasping, trying to sit up in his bed. A heavy weight across his side and chest prevented him, and Jin's hands instinctively scrabbled at the person, trying to free himself. The grip on him only tightened, and Jin registered sleep-filled mumbling near his ear.

"What the fuck, Jin? Go back to sleep." The warm breath against his neck soothed him. Jin looked down at messy red hair covering an arrogant face, nestled in the crook between his neck and shoulder. A leanly muscled arm was draped heavily across his chest, effectively immobilizing him. Jin sighed, relieved, his fingers tracing that one powerful bicep. Hwoarang shifted next to him, propping himself on one elbow. He regarded Jin sleepily.

"Bad dream?"

Jin nodded, not trusting his voice.

Hwoarang sighed, rubbing his face. "That's the fifth one this week, and it's Friday. What the hell is going on?"

Jin just stared off into the distance, one hand idly playing with a strand of Hwoarang's blood-hued hair. He absently tugged on the lock. It took a moment before he registered the Blood Talon's purr against his ear.

Jin smiled, distracted. "You cat," he whispered indulgently.

"Damn straight," Hwoarang confirmed, rolling over and stretching out his body, limb by limb. He grabbed Jin's waist and hauled him to his side, enjoying the feel of the stockier man's body as it cradled against him. "Now go back to sleep. No one's going to hurt you here. They'd have to go through me first."

Jin cocked an eyebrow at his lover. "And you're such a bad-ass, right?"

The words were muffled, as Hwoarang's face was once again buried in Jin's neck. "Damn straight." Jin chuckled, wrapped Hwoarang in a tighter embrace and promptly fell back asleep, silently hoping that this time, it would be a dreamless one.

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