Author's Notes: The new character won’t be introduced until the next chapter. (Assuming fanfic.net allows me to view my new reviews some time this year.) I hope this one is good. I tried!
**Disclaimer**: Tekken is owned by Namco and not me. I just manipulate the characters for entertainment purposes.
Crossfire
Chapter 4 - Profit From The Pain
“You’re gonna fucking pay,” The furious Korean whispered as he headed out the door.
It was 7 am. Julia was sleeping in, and Jin hadn’t woken up yet. It was better that way. Hwoarang didn’t want anyone to decide to stop him from going after Kazuya. He had been betrayed before, but for some reason it had never hurt so bad in the past. It felt even worse then telling Kazuya to stay out of his life. Why were these things happening?
Where would Kazuya go? It occurred to the Korean how little he knew about his former lover. Their short relationship had been just physical. How would he find him? The one thing he did know was that Kazuya liked fighting, so naturally, he decided to head to one of the dojo’s that were hidden away from prying eyes. Somehow he doubted the Japanese Devil would hang downtown where anybody could watch.
Of course, before Hwoarang could go anywhere, he had to remember where his parking spot was. He was never good at remembering numbers and he didn’t use his bike all that much because Julia normally preferred public transportation. Something about saving the O-zone and global warming. It was C9 or 9C… Or was it 3K?
Hwoarang eventually found the bike and sped to the dojo, almost hitting a dog or two. As he climbed off the bike, he suddenly realized that Kazuya was probably sleeping in a hotel somewhere. It was, after all, still morning. Of course, in a few seconds, he realized that he had parked next to the exact rental Honda that he had been driving around in a month ago. Talk about clueless.
The embarrassment didn’t last long. It was soon replaced by anxiety, fear, and melancholy. Such feelings posed another question: What did he plan on doing once he found Kazuya? Lecture him on family values, and how fathers are supposed to love their sons, not try to kill them. Or would he fight him again? It didn’t matter either way. He was there and he wasn’t about to wimp out.
Betrayal, disappointment, animosity… Jin wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he was feeling. When he was little, he used to fantasize about what kind of man his father was. He’d make up stories, and he’d write them down. He’d let his mother read them and she’d always smile, but he could always see the sadness behind that smile. Of course, he thought the sadness was just because she missed his father, he never imagined that this was the reality. His father was a devil, and that devil wanted him dead. It was all the same though, because now that he knew the truth, he wanted his father dead.
The clock by the bed read 7:15 am. It was a strange room. One he had never been in before. There wasn’t much question as to whose it was, though, judging by the motorhead posters. Did that mean Hwoarang won? He must of, since Jin was still alive. Hwoarang actually saved him from his father? Who would have thought the Blood Talon would put his life on the line for someone else, let alone his rival.
Jin stretched and pushed the covers aside. He made a mental note to thank his rival later, but for now he had to figure out how to get to work from there. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and curled his bare toes on the cold vinyl flooring. Everything in that room was cheap. Even the bedside table looked like it was made out of driftwood. How could anybody live like that? But he supposed Hwoarang had lived in worse places.
He was still wearing his pants, and didn’t know what happened to his shirt or Jacket, so he headed right out of the room for lack of any better ideas. He had no desire to flaunt his body to whoever was there, but unless he decided to walk around in a sheet cocoon, there wasn’t much of a choice. And sheet cocoons did nothing for him. So he continued on topless, walking quickly in order to avoid contact with the cold floor for too long.
Julia Chang was digging through a broom closet, frantically looking for something. As soon as she heard footsteps behind her, she spun around and pouted at Jin, “I think he went after Mishima, Kazuya. I’m going after him as soon as I find my shoes.”
That wasn’t very promising. Why would Hwoarang do that? Jin looked around and said, “… I’ll go after him.” He spotted his shoes by the door and quickly pulled them on.
Before he could reach for the doorknob, Julia grabbed his arm to stop him. She reached inside the closet and pulled out a black hooded fleece with ‘Bouzyaku Buzin’ written sloppily in red on the back. “Don’t want anyone recognising you,” Julia stated.
Jin looked at it with uncertainty for a moment, having doubts that anything of Hwoarang’s would fit him, but he tried it on anyway. Luckily, it did fit. It was a little tight, but it still got the job done. He briefly thanked her and headed out, looking for a cab.
It had never been so difficult to just simply open a door before. The Korean had never had so many mixed emotions. In fact he rarely let his emotions get the best of him unless it was anger. He had a gift for changing whatever he was feeling into anger, but it wasn’t so easy this time. He just felt so betrayed and used, and foolish.
Finally, he mustered up the guts and stepped inside. Kazuya sat cross-legged in the centre of the room, unbothered by his visitor. He smiled up at the redhead and spoke in an amused tone of voice, “I was wondering when you were going to come in. Would you like some tea?”
Hwoarang circled around the older man, watching him with a vicious glare, “You lied to me, and then you followed me, which was another lie, and then you fucked him up before I could at least get off,” he stopped behind the man, “You arrogant prick.”
“I doubt my son could have provided you with what you want. I did you a favour. As for the lies, I only did what you would have done. How many lies have you told in the past week? How many times have you betrayed Julia?” Kazuya stood and continued, “You intrigue me, Hwoa-kun. You’re a contradiction. You’re a frightened needy child, and a tough, bad-ass street punk at the same time. It’s interesting, yet sad.”
The Korean rolled his eyes, “Am I going to have to pay for this session, doc? Or would you kindly shut the fuck up?”
Kazuya smiled and backed Hwoarang into a wall. His eyes studied the Korean features, imprinting them in his head so he’d never forget. He did feel horrible about using the boy, but he wouldn’t admit it. “Hwoa-kun…” He put his hands on either side of the younger man’s body, and bowed his head, “If it will please you to hit me, you have my permission. I will not fight back.”
Hwoarang held his breath, feeling his face heat up with this sudden closeness. The sudden emotion emanating from his rival’s father. He cupped the Japanese jaw in his hand, and lifted Kazuya’s face, so he could look him in the eye. What he seen was unexpected, yet wanted. In Kazuya’s eyes, Hwoarang seen genuine passion, and care, and something else, almost apologetic. He wanted to hate the possessed Mishima, but it was just so hard. Not with him so close…
“Fuck you,” Hwoarang growled quietly, shoving Kazuya away.
His eyes lit up with hostility as he delivered an angry blow to the older man’s face. At least he knew there was no lie involved. The Japanese didn’t fight back, he just stood there, holding the side of his face, waiting for another blow. Hwoarang grabbed the man, pulled him over his head as he fell into a backwards summersault and ended up in a position on top of the older man, set up for what was normally his ‘roll and choke’ move, but he made no move to finish it. He looked down at the man underneath him and licked the blood off the Japanese bottom lip.
A stray lock of ebony hair fell down into Kazuya’s face. Hwoarang frowned and pushed it aside. “You must understand something, Mishima-sama… I don’t want to want you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I want to hate you… But for some twisted reason, things don’t go the way I plan, and I end up wanting you anyway. I end up… betraying myself, betraying Julia, and betraying your own son. That is why I wanted you to stay the fuck out of my life.”
“Wanted?” Kazuya inquired.
Hwoarang got up and punched a wall, “Is that the only thing you heard me say?”
Kazuya rolled his eyes, “I heard every word that came out of that beautiful mouth of yours. I just would rather… delve into other subjects. I know what you say you want, but I also know that you are a drama queen and are making a mountain out of a molehill. Hwoa-kun, you know just as well as I do, that if you leave right now, you will live in regret for months, if not longer. However, if you stay, and take what you want, you’ll betray all these people, and you’ll feel guilty for months, but I doubt you’ll regret it. So, what have you got to lose?”
“My sanity for starters,” Hwoarang replied quietly, feeling himself gravitating to the other man. “And I ain’t no queen.”
Kazuya laughed lightly as he got to his feet. The gravitation was mutual, but it was one who ignited the initial contact. Hwoarang stepped forward and pushed his hand through Kazyuya’s hair as he pressed himself against him. There lips met in a sensual kiss, drawing them even closer, despite the near impossibility of it. Two heated tongues teased each other feverishly. How could such cruel lips feel so soft? So… Beautiful?
Kazuya removed his own shirt and unbuttoned the Korean’s jeans. Their eye met for a split second before Kazuya grasped the back of Hwoarang’s thighs, lifted him up, and pushed him against the wall. Upon the impact, Hwoarang laughed against the older man’s mouth. It was amazing what Kazuya could do to him. All the vulnerable positions the man has witnessed. Hwoarang felt almost like Kazuya owned a part of his soul, and what bothered him was that he liked it that way.
It was risky getting so friendly in a public place, but it wasn’t a popular dojo so neither of them were worried. If any locals did come, they’d probably just see the scene and turn right around again. They couldn’t care less if some stranger walked in on it.
Hwoarang hooked his legs behind the older man’s knees, and yanked, sending Kazuya falling to the dull wooden floor. Glad to finally be on top, the Korean kicked off his pants and admired the beauty in his grasp. All the scars just made the Japanese man more desirable. The abused, mistreated appearance only made the Korean want to get closer. But being close to someone seemed to be a foreign concept.
They kissed again, but this time the connection of their lips was short lived. Hwoarang moved his mouth down over the curve of Kazuya’s jaw, down past the neck, and to the chest. Each tiny kiss involved a playful suck, and the Korean breath on the sensitive flesh of his chest, tickled his nerves. Hwoarang lingered at the huge scar decorating the Japanese flesh. He had heard stories about it and never really had the chance to feel it, to taste it. Kazuya rose his chest into the kiss as if his young companion possessed healing powers.
Hwoarang spotted someone step into the doorway from the corner of his eye. He wanted to ignore it but when Kazuya tensed under him, he looked up. “Oh shit,” he breathed.
Jin Kazama glared at his rival for a moment before turning and heading right back out again. Well, things didn’t exactly go the way they were planned. Maybe they would have if Hwoarang had stuck to the original plan from the beginning. It was all Kazuya’s fault.
Hwoarang scrambled to his feet and frantically pulled his tight jeans over his plain black boxers, hopping from foot to foot as he did so, and ignoring the strange quizzical look he was getting from the older man. Why was he so determined not to let his rival go? He hated Jin, and he hated Kazuya, yet he wanted them both. Of course the younger Japanese man posed more of a mystery, which offered some reason as to why he wanted him but there was no explanation for the older of the two.
“Wait!” Hwoarang ran out of the dojo after Jin, insisting, “Jin, let me explain!”
The piceous-headed man turned to his pursuer, and crossed his arms, “Go ahead. Give it a shot.”
“I… I went to go kick his ass,” Hwoarang started, hugging himself self-consciously, “for what he tried to do last night, and when I found him, I started doing just that. But something happened. I wasn’t thinking straight… I’m sorry.”
Jin laughed bitterly and shook his head, “Sorry? No you’re not Hwoarang,” He sighed and looked away, “You know, you should really learn to control your lies. One of these days they’re going to come back and bite you in the ass.”
Hwoarang narrowed his eyes. His face heated up to a dark pink. “It already fucking has!” He growled loudly at his rival, “You think I’m lying? You think I really want to do that shit with a fucking sadist rapist bastard? Wow. You really think highly of me, don’t you?”
“… Who has he raped?” Jin’s eyes rose to study the Korean’s face carefully.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Hwoarang stammered, caught off-guard. He didn’t even realize he said that until he heard Jin say it. “It was just an insult I threw in there,” He made a lame attempt at damage control, “Ok Jin, I should go home. You’re right though. I will stop lying to you. See ya next tournament.”
Jin grabbed Hwoarang’s arm before the man could walk away, “What did he do to you?”
“I… Jin, go away.”
“No.”
The anger at Jin’s insistance, and the recurring vision of last months happenings was building up inside the distressed Korean like a stick of lit dynamite. He glared at his rival, suddenly wanting to be alone. Just wanting to curl up in a corner and ram his head into a wall until the world stopped hurting. “Since I’m all about honesty now, I might as well tell you the truth about why I kissed you last month.” He jerked his arm away, “I did it for your dad. He was nearby watching, waiting for me to get your guard down. I failed, so I came back for you a month later just to see if I could seduce my own rival.”
Jin stared, shocked and silent, so Hwoarang asked, “How does it feel to be used? How does it feel to be meaningless when you had thought otherwise? How does deceit feel, Jin?”
Finally the young Japanese man spoke, “… I don’t feel deceived. I hadn’t believed your original story in the first place. But if what would have happened last night was so meaningless, why did you save me from him? Why did you risk your life to save me?”
Hwoarang looked down, his jaw set angrily, “Get the fuck lost, Kazama.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Fine,” Hwoarang snapped quietly, “I’ll leave,” and shoved the concerned man out of his way.
The air was nice and cool. Very sobering. Whores and junkies lined the street, off in their own worlds. It was the perfect place for anonymity. A whore went down on a business man in a shadowy corner, but it was only noon so anybody who cared to look would see everything. Luckily, nobody did care enough to look. A couple thugs beat on each other murderously, but people just turned there heads and walked by as if they didn’t even exist. It was the perfect sanctuary for the disturbed.
A young preteen whore eyed the redheaded Korean and called after him in Japanese. He waved his hand dismissively as he continued on past the happy business man, and past a few more whores offering there services. He spotted a vacant shadowy area and quickly claimed it, but it was in a nook of a building so he wouldn’t be able to see the street clearly. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t come for the view.
As Hwoarang leaned against the filthy wall, he pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket, and flipped it open. It wasn’t as cool in the nook, and for that he was thankful. Because he forgot his shirt at the dojo, and he had nowhere else to go. Nowhere to be alone. To be anonymous. There was so much to think about, but he wasn’t ready to lose anybody. In a way, disappearing for a day was a subtle way to keep all three hanging on to him.
He sighed and started carving his chest with the knife. He hissed with pain as he worked but he did not slow. Hwoarang carefully carved out a bloody adaptation of Kazuya’s scar. It hurt like hell, but he reveled in it. It was a great relief. A delicious escape from his panicked thoughts. An escape from the reality of the situation he had trapped himself in.
The blood trickled down his firm stomach, tickling through the stinging pain and staining his skin. He let his head drop back against the wall and sighed. It was nice not worrying about what to do, and just lie there in filth and blood relaxing. He dabbed the corner of his fresh wound with his thumb, bringing it up to his face to look at it. He studied the smear of blood as if he had never seen any before.
“My beautiful human.”
Hwoarang watched his former lover step into the nook. He was too phased by the pain to care about the red eyes. As long as he was in his world of filth, nothing could frighten him. Not even desire. Although he was aware enough to wish Kazuya could tone down the eyes a bit. He didn’t want to draw any attention. Even the people around here would notice a demon in there midst, and they may not like it too much.
The Japanese devil stepped closer and eyed the artistic imitation of its scar. It smiled and crossed its arms, “That’s exactly how it looked 40 years ago. He was a stubborn child. Climbed that cliff with the grace of a cat and the strength of an ox. What I can’t understand is why he went back home to his father after that. Humans are funny that way. Would you have gone back?”
“I would have died,” Hwoarang pointed out quietly.
“Perhaps,” The devil sighed, gazing curiously at the redhead. “Kazuya didn’t much like being called a ‘sadist, rapist bastard’, though I found it rather amusing for a number of reasons. Firstly, you need sadism. You crave it, yet you said it as if it were a bad thing. Secondly, it was I who raped you, not him. Thirdly, unlike you, Kazuya was born with a father.”
The Korean rolled his eyes and replied sarcastically, “Well I’m glad you cleared that up for me. Now are you finished? I would like to be alone. There’s a little more bleeding to accomplish.”
Devil took Hwoarang’s hand in its own and drew the blood smeared thumb into its mouth, sucking it reasonably clean, and all the while, keeping its eyes locked with the Korean’s. “Alone?” It kissed the tip of the digit, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Hwoarang watched through half-lidded eyes. “No,” He whispered, “I want you.”
A subtle smirk crept upon its face, “I think you meant that you want Kazuya. You hate me, remember?”
“If I want Kazuya,” The Korean growled, “I will specify. Now if you’re only going to tease me, go away. I’ve got more injuries to inflict upon myself. Oh and you wouldn’t by any chance have my shirt, would you?”
Devil smiled and gingerly kissed the corner of Hwoarang’s mouth. Once satisfied that there would be no objection, it lowered itself down the Korean body and slowly licked the fresh wound. Since the blood was still flowing, the blood that was cleared away was soon replaced by more. The red thick substance seeped over the devil’s tongue and crawled down its throat.
Hwoarang shivered because of the tongue grazing his broken flesh and the amazing chill of the demon’s breath. He never dreamed he’d allow something like that to happen, but the more it hurt, the less he cared. The more the devil touched him, the more he wanted it. And even though he was already regretting every second of it, the quiet moan escaping his lips signified his refusal to stop it.
“You shouldn’t wear shirts anyway. They only hide your beautiful skin and I like looking at you. Every part of you,” Devil said, rising a few inches to drink from the mortal’s mouth, “You look much better in the nude, my beautiful human.” It smirked against the Korean’s mouth, “I would love to burn your clothes.”
Hwoarang laughed and rubbed his pelvis against the demon’s, playfully. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“Yes, but so are you.” The devil unbuttoned the Korean’s jeans and pushed them down. “I’d suggest a more private place but I do not want to give you a chance to change your mind.”
The smile Hwoarang gave was enough to make the devil’s pants become uncomfortably tight, and demons weren’t easily excited. How could an annoying street punk be so flawlessly beautiful? Did everybody see Hwoarang that way? They must… No. There was one person who didn’t but she would be dealt with later. For now its world consisted of the Blood Talon alone.
“Can’t get more private then this, anyway.” His smile fell and he nudged the demon’s jaw with his nose, “It’s times like this when I wish my boxers were a size larger… You know, I still don’t know what to call you. What am I supposed to scream?”
The devil removed its own shirt and stole another kiss. “Bob,” It purred against Hwoarang’s lips, “Judy. Hiro. I don’t know.”
Hwoarang closed his eyes, and ran his hand along the perfect muscular chest before him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You don’t have a name?”
“Name me.”
The Korean laughed lightly and nipped at the demon’s bottom lip. He stepped out of the pants that were already down to his ankles, and hungrily sucked at the devil’s neck. It was strange to hear a devil moan, but the Korean sucked harder just to hear the noise again. It sounded so blissful. So angelic. Hwoarang smirked as he felt his boxers fall down his legs to the dirty ground, releasing him from the prison of cotton.
Hwoarang went to work on freeing his companion and looked up into those hungry red eyes as if they were the most intoxicating sight there was. And to him, they were. “Zekkai.”
“I love it.”
The Korean grinned and stuck his own fingers in his mouth, drawing a confused expression from the demon. Hwoarang pushed down on the devil’s boxer-briefs with his free hand. He smoothly flashed that bullet-stopping smile and slipped his wet fingers around to the rear of his companion, teasing the tight entrance. Once the demon pressed back into the fingers, desperately, Hwoarang eased a finger inside, and carefully loosened the muscle. He considered diving right in just for some moderate revenge, but figured he didn’t want to pick that kind of bone with a bigger, demonic dog. At least not yet.
Devil gasped and cursed under its chilling breath. The only reason it started the situation was to mock its host, but within minutes the plans had altered. The demon had quickly grown quite fond of the Korean, and wished there was a way to be completely alone with him, without Kazuya watching.
Hwoarang took his finger back and pulled his jeans on. Once he seen the disappointed look he was getting, he winked and elaborated, “I know a cleaner place we can go, where there won’t be the possibility of a whore jumping in to join us. Come.”