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DISCLAIMER: All featured Tekken characters are the property of Namco and not the authors.

Notes: Constructive criticism is welcomed!

Warnings: Eventual lemon parts, language & violence.

In the hours following the unpleasant incident, Jin began to skirt Hwoarang around his castle of a home from private nook to private room, telling the redhead various reasons for his doing so with the truth being simply that he wanted to keep Hwoarang and the guardsmen away from each other. It was a noble idea, but soon enough it would have to fall apart. Jin simply hoped it wasn't for another while more.

"Joon." He was sitting behind Hwoarang in a giant bamboo-framed patio chair on the patio behind his bedroom, arms garbed in gauzy white linen sleeves around the man's shoulders, strong chin resting comfortably atop his left shoulder, and the side of his face snuggled against Hwoarang's. He'd said he wanted to sit and look at the stars with Hwoarang for a while.

"What do you think of the house?" he asked carefully. /Besides the man that tried to attack you--/

" .. what's to think about .. ?" Hwoarang blurted out a little impetuously. No dust, no leaks, no grime, no oily vats, no sheet covered pieces of industrial machinery -- there were no elements of Hwoarang's world in this glittering citadel of luxurious hostility [hostility, if one counted the pitbulls in Italian suits that watched him as if he were a rabid tom cat].

Hwoarang arched his neck a bit more so his eyes were more aligned with the stars, his cheek more pressed against Jin's, so he could seem as if he wasn't giving what happened much thought. In truth, the cut on his lower lip, the tiny rectangle of medical tape across his brow, and the ever present cast on his left wrist and hand were aspects of continuous thought, superimposed on the figment of Kazama Jin. He managed to keep himself oblivious, however, burrowing even deeper into the linen of Jin's shirt; he only wore a pair of white gi.

" .. it's amazing. If I was big willy like this, though, I would line the walls with Hendrix posters," Hwoarang murmured.

Jin's eyes were lifted to watch Hwoarang's face; they caught the moonlight and swallowed it, large and black and soft and at some times comforting, at others haunting. Now, though, they seemed mostly reverent.

"It's been almost five years and I still don't like it here," he admitted softly. "Houses don't need to be this large. And there aren't enough gardens..." Jin inhaled deeply, rewarded with an aroma of night air and Hwoarang.

"...Thanks for coming, Joon. I know it isn't much fun."

"It's fun. I'm not lying." Sitting up, Hwoarang twisted at the waist so he was facing Jin, placing a hand beside the Japanese's quadricep and on the chair to brace himself. His grin was like the slope of a hill, bruised near the lowest point with a small, reddish cut.

"Your baby-sitters are funny guys .. You know they quadruple teamed me? Maan .. " Angling his face downward so he was studying Jin's forearm, his visage was curtained in threads of orange. " .. I hope they try to get even again."

"I didn't know they did that," Jin said, his voice very small. He didn't find it as amusing. "They're not going to. I'm going to talk with Hayase-san about some things. When I was sleeping I saw my mother, and--. She told me some things that I need to do." Tender fingers smoothed through half of those enflamed locks, guiding them behind Hwoarang's left ear.

" .. oh yeah .. ?" He'd taken to stroking Jin's forearm with the backs of his fingers, but when his mother was mentioned Hwoarang lifted his sparkling brown eyes to search Jin's. The woman was a legend Hwoarang believed in, because she had to be incredible to have made and raised this person that Hwoarang loved more than anything else in the whole world.

" What did she tell you?"

"She told me..." Jin's eyes roamed over the space between them as his voice trailed indecisively off. He was quiet for a moment.

"She told me that it was fear and anger that He thrives on, and helped me to figure out what I could do to stop those emotions." Jin put his hand over Hwoarang's idle one, trailing lightly down the skin before seeking to twine their fingers. He still avoided eye contact.

It was as Hwoarang had suspected, and now he felt more comfortable with his decision to remain in the Mishima home for a few more days. Taisho and Ryo were probably wasted somewhere or in jail without their renju leader to keep them in order, but Hwoarang realized with his arms around Jin in the hospital that this was more important. There was no doubt that he staunchly denied -- in his own mind -- a fear of facing them and accounting for his whereabouts.

" .. what'd you figure out? Besides me keeping you happy -- " Hwoarang's grin grew back like a bending blade of grass, and he firmly weaved his fingers with Jin's, allowing the lack of eye contact. His stare was hard on that deflected gaze.

The Japanese sifted through words, trying to order them properly amidst growing shame.

"I was angry because Hayase-san tries to control my life. I was scared because--. ...I don't really..." Jin didn't want to talk about it, but it to squirm at the question was a more natural response than to say the fact outright.

"It's all right," Hwoarang whispered. He pulled his hand free and wrapped both arms around the larger chest, whispering again. " .. it takes time to break out of something like this."

Six or seven months ago, the Korean would have laughed at this rich boy's problems, and told him to suck it up, stop whining. But it seemed that Kazama Jin he stalemated with so long ago was a character he created himself, stereotyped, two-dimensional and largely erroneous. The thought of what he let himself believe Jin was made him chuckle every now and then, and one day he might bring himself to share. Now he only rubbed Jin's back in a slow, reassuring rhythm with his right hand.

Jin slowly settled into that hold, his eyes warm with silent gratitude. His hands were glad to return the gesture, cupping the fascinating lines of Hwoarang's waist. Hwoarang was right, and it was the Korean's strength that would buffer Jin's chances of success when he battled his fears -- fears in which the Korean was also encircled.

"The term is almost over, you know," he said. "We should go somewhere. Just us."

" .. could you really do that?" The shock of the possibility made Hwoarang stiffen in the Japanese's hold, but he made his own tighter around Jin's blanketed ribcage. He swept the patrician features of the Japanese's face for the validity of such a statement. " .. go anywhere, without the sitters .. ?"

"Maybe one or two would have to come," Jin reasoned, "but we could go anywhere and do whatever we wanted. Grandfather gives me a huge allowance each month, and I never spend any of it. I have everything I need in my room ... everything else is arbitrary. We could do any thing at all." Jin's eyes grew a faint, amazed glow, because the true extent of the Mishima name and its powers was something he rarely thought about, and still had the power to bewilder him.

"I want to kick the leaning Tower of Pisa." Because it scared Hwoarang, really, people going up into that thing with all that confidence when the prospect of himself doing such scared him like hell -- not that he would tell ANYONE this.

"Joon, you'd knock it over," Jin said, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, " he smirked.

"... And Hayase-san could give out the funds to rebuild it but they wouldn't be able to get it to lean the right way again..." he grinned slowly. Then Jin had an idea of his own.

"We could go to Korea, too. I want to see where you came from."

The thought soberedof returning to Korea sobered Hwoarang up quicker than devil Jin would've. His expression grew stern, but Hwoarang set his chin on the Japanese's shoulder facing back into the house, so it couldn't be perceived. The only good thing about his Korea, his rejecting Korea, was Doo San Baek's temple. He wasn't sure if the pain was worth a visit for Jin's sake, so he changed the subject.

"Maybe Los Angeles. I hear you can't breath over there."

There was something odd in that reply, but it wouldn't be until later that Jin realized it was actually a change in topic.

"Have you ever been to America?"

"Nah, I haven't." He shifted his lips a few degrees so they were brushing Jin's thumping, warm jugular at his neck -- an apologetic kiss for the lapse. Hwoarang didn't think he noticed, but still felt obliged to make amend.

"My English is still rough. But we could get translators..." Jin's fingers were seeping instinctually behind Hwoarang's smooth, warm, uncovered lower back.

"And eat American food. They put pickles on hamburgers there." Pickles? As opposed to things like squid that Japanese hamburgers were topped with..? Americans were such odd people.

They had these things called Pop Tarts too that Hwoarang could remember from Korea when he was a kid. The soldiers were always eating them, and offering them to him. He liked strawberry with frosting, and was sure he could buy plenty cheaply in Los Angeles.

" .. and all the women with blonde hair walk around in their underwear and give you their number. We SO should go." Sitting up, he placed one hand and a half on Jin's shoulders for emphasis.

Poor gullible Jin stared amazedly at Hwoarang. "That's allowed there?"

"Yeah, they let people do anything over there."

Jin's face softened into a something of a smirk, his arms coiling tightly about Hwoarang. He pulled in on the other teenager's lower back and leaned forward in hopes of laying the redhead down on the chair.

"That's scary. I'd have to fight the American girls away from you," he said, his face very, very close to Hwoarang's.

Gladly horizontal, Hwoarang's long, saffron hair fanned out around him like splayed threads of silk. He grinned up at Jin -- his "ladies" grin -- and raised his hands until his arms could wrap around the Japanese's neck.

" .. that's not very gentlemanly of you, Kazama. Even I don't hit girls." Nope -- even if he might go a little hard on Ling. That was just jealous -- err, rivalry. He couldn't wait with Jin that close -- couldn't be patient -- so Hwoarang erased the distance between their mouths and parted his lips over Jin's.

If Jin actually did it he would feel terrible and pay the hospital bills in their entirely, as well as the cost of copious bouquets of get-well flowers. With a content, humming little noise he happily returned the kiss, always eager to get a fill of the Korean. His strong body went liquid, sinking down into Hwoarang's in all of the best places.

There was something innocent in the way the Korean's tongue pushed entrance into the wet heat of Jin's mouth after he'd massaged the Japanese's lower lip thoroughly. The kissing stung, but that minor pain added to the greed of his quest; Hwoarang's tongue lodged itself deep inside, thirstily lapping up the distinct taste of Jin. With less innocence, his right hand was pulling the white shirt off, one ripped button after another.

Jin was too wrapped in his favorite person to hear them tinkle against the cement of the patio and skitter away. Instead he was busy working first his shoulders free of the cloth and then his arms, so he could settle against Hwoarang again with naked torso to naked torso. He passed his hands down Hwoarang's sides, his fingers delving under the waist of those gi pants.

Hwoarang's lips broke with Jin's and slowly worked its way with sucking, openmouthed kisses to the square of his jaw before the Korean pulled back, staring up at the Japanese. With Jin atop him, flesh-covered heat promising a fusion, Hwoarang's face was flushed with his lust. He slid a hand down Jin's chest, scissoring his fingers over a nipple and rolling it as he whispered, " .. can I .. this time .. ?"

Jin groaned softly, finding difficult to do tasks such as keep his eyes open or think.

"Do what...?"

" .. you." Hwoarang brought his hand to Jin's abdomen, his palm flat against the duned belly, and let his fingers push beneath the waistband of pants to burrow into the beginnings of soft curls.

There came a quiet, low noise before Jin could stop it.

"Okay.." he murmured without giving much, if any, thought to the matter. "Let's go inside," he suggested.

Hwoarang gave Jin's neck a bite of disagreement, but he focused on cooling his libido just as long as it took to get to Jin's bed. All things considered, it might have been a good choice. As Hwoarang rose after Jin and eyed his rear, he was already imagining how loud that gentle voice was capable of getting.

Jin's shirt was pooled behind his back and about his wrists when he rose from the chair, and in transit to the bed he dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor. Splaying his fingers over his mattress he climbed onto the bed; turning over and backpedaling further onto the massive cushion. He'd never done this before, and though it was his turn to be anxious, he nevertheless had no doubts.

Hwoarang followed just as anxiously in Jin's wake, and remained standing at the end of the bed once the Japanese lay on his back. In light that only hit one side of his body, committing the profile to a dramatic illumination, his expression seemed hesitant. In truth, it was worshipful, and when Hwoarang creased the weight of the bed placing a knee on it, he whispered up towards Jin, " .. you're beautiful."

Jin smiled softly and a little of the tension in his shoulders, of which he had not even been aware, fizzled away.

"I love you," he half-whispered back, his eyes glowing with warmth. He was settling himself for Hwoarang, although still rather unsure what to do with his limbs.

Climbing onto the bed over Jin, Hwoarang sunk down between his thighs and pressed his mouth to the Japanese's belly, just at the waistband of his pants. And then his fingers were unbuttoning the fly, curling to pull them down over the smooth, almond skin. Hwoarang savored the slow unveiling, tracing kisses along his quadriceps and knees as he slid the material off.

Jin shifted his body to aid the undressing, bent forward and passing his fingers over Hwoarang in touches that sifted back through Hwoarang's hair, trickled down his neck, melting over his bare shoulders. His lips parted slightly when the lazily growing arousal slipped free from the cloth and slid upwards against his belly.

Hwoarang rose up once Jin was completely disrobed, a rapt fascination collected in his gleaming eyes. At the sight of the organ he bent to kiss it -- just on the underside, beneath the head. His lips stayed there for a while, as if they refused to be parted. When they did, Hwoarang licked the curve of the head and moved his body up over Jin's completely, gazing down as he melded himself between those parted thighs.

The heat of anticipation was already seeping into Jin, surfacing as a mild flush on his cheeks, neck and upper chest. He welcomed Hwoarang's body with his touch so gladly, sliding his hands over the bountiful bare skin and then curling about the Koreans' rear to pull the man's body firmly against his own. As an afterthought, he spread his knees slightly.

With his face poised just above, Hwoarang looked into the eyes that Jin had kept from him so many times earlier that evening.

"I love you too .. " he whispered, before he leaned down to ravage the Japanese's mouth. But then he rose again, and slid his fore and middle fingers between Jin's lips, gently caressing them.

It did not take Jin long to realize the motive and firm his lips about the exploring digits, pressing the warm, slick muscle of his tongue over them. It was for Hwoarang's pleasure as much as Jin's own sake. Meanwhile, Jin's fingers seeped up over Hwoarang's back and then down again, but this time they began to urge the waistband of his gi pants down along with them.

Even though the gesture served a practical purpose, Hwoarang's body tightened with the pleasure of it, each volt of electricity coursing through his body concentrated from the nerves in those fingers. After a rather hoarse breath he drew back before he forgot his purpose, moving the hand. It was with a tender suddenness that those slick fingers probed through Jin's rear, the first digit testing the warm opening. Hwoarang lowered his mouth to suck at Jin's chest.

At this point Jin had pushed the fabric down as far as his arms could reach. He gave a soft, strained noise at the new discomfort, parting his legs further in hopes that it would lessen the feeling. His back bent upwards in lusty grace against those lips. This was Jin, utterly and completely offered.

"Try to relax .. " Hwoarang whispered, because it'd helped him before. He pushed the index finger in to the knuckle, just enough to get past the tight walls of sphincter muscle, and accompanied each further push with a reassuring kiss on the map of Jin's chest. Dexterity completed the job of seeing his own gi pooled on the floor, and once Hwoarang's tongue was delving into the bud of Jin's navel he slipped another finger in along side the first, gently parting them just inside.

Jin nibbled his bottom lip and did his best to take the advice, slowing his breathing, clearing the worry from his mind, relaxing his body with the control that both men had undoubtedly acquired in their training. It helped to a degree, and once Jin pulled up his knees, he discovered it was a position that aided the exploration even further. He probably would have been embarrassed by his small, thin noises if he'd heard them himself.

As those provocative noises touched his skin as if they were palpable, Hwoarang parted his lips and bit at the curves of Jin's abdomen gently, if only to mediate lust's urgency. The Japanese was almost ready, and Hwoarang'd began scissoring his fingers, stretching the malleable, tight tissues that the pads of each digit rubbed against. His shoulders were cushioned by each of Jin's elevated legs when Hwoarang began tonguing his navel lovingly, as if it held a taste of Jin's inner essence that he was greedy for. Intoxicated on Mishima chi.

Hwoarang was pulling strings on Jin which the Japanese had never known to exist; ones that caused his back to arch jerkingly and faintly, or his face to tense in bewilderingly erotic discomfort, or his lips to heatedly whisper Joon's name in whole or in part. It was getting easier now, he could feel that much by himself. His fingers found Hwoarang's bare shoulders and pulled upwards on them gently but urgently. Lust and preparation were making Jin impatient for the real thing. For Hwoarang.

If those who knew Hwoarang heard about this extended, careful, sweet foreplay, they would have made plans to go skiing in Hell. But here he was, maddening them both to mindlessness, because the last thing Hwoarang could ever do is hurt Jin. With the encouragement, however, something in Hwoarang snapped, and he was soon atop Jin with a blinding speed, kissing him hard on the mouth. He'd settled his thin body into the valley created by the Japanese's spread legs, their belly's melded together, and a hand went between the muscled stomachs, sliding over Jin's pelvis and organ, and soon guiding a nudge to that private, worked opening.

Jin caught his breath sharply, and then was suddenly sinking into the bed as though melting despite the parts of him blazing too white-hot to soften. He clutched Hwoarang's shoulderblades, though his fingers explored the valleys and peaks of the Korean's back beforehand. At the pressure against that loosened gateway he parted his legs further and gave a movement that was just short of a squirm. As he returned the searing kiss with an equally voracious appetite he could not remember the last time his mind had been swimming this way.

When Hwoarang tore away to position himself, placing his hands on Jin's thighs, his moist breathing filled the air. The Japanese's eyes were anchors he studied as he slowly pushed forward, anchors that kept his hips controlled, forcing a patience on them while Jin accepted each inch. The indescribable sensation squeezed Hwoarang's heart, and he gave a mild cry when his eyes closed, losing their anchors, and his full length impaled, control forgotten.

It was a hot, sharp, full, and comforting sensation that Jin had never known. He held fast onto Hwoarang in a grip that asked him to stay where he was, to let Jin both savor and adjust to the penetration. He drew a slow breath made a touch shaky by the violent pounding of his heart and began to fold his legs behind Hwoarang's thighs in the way that he had remembered Hwoarang doing.

"Jin," he trembled, taking his angel's strained hips into his palms. Lowering his mouth to the oasis of Jin's collar -- which despite the damp warmth was cooler than the heat buried within now -- Hwoarang let the flames accommodate him, instigating more tiny fires with the first offers of a grind that drove up against the spongy bud deep within Jin immediately. Shifting upright as he focused on a rhythm, Hwoarang held fast with his hands and re-grasped his anchors, each of his eyes a liquid pool of magma.

At first Jin's fingers dug into the sheets, clenching and unclenching the fabric, and his eyes were watching the aurora of color that melted over the backs of their lids. But then something changed. Jin opened his eyes; cool, dark and soft despite the passion that sizzled within them. They settled on Hwoarang reverently, and Jin let go of the mattress to put his hands on the Korean's body, feeling the flesh and muscle of his chest as though he had never done it before.

Hwoarang would have never believed, never been convinced by God, that he could feel such intensity physically and emotionally with and within another person. That he could be suffused with such peace, such love, such devotion and tenuous sanity where Kazama Jin was concerned. He loved Jin so much. Hwoarang whispered his name as closed his hand over one that touched his chest, bringing the digits to his mouth. His thrusts began lifting and lowering Jin, coming harder and faster, but always deep and consumed.

Jin's eyes found Hwoarang's and lingered there, telling Hwoarang the things about which mere words would never be able to adequately shape themselves. His other hand pressed against the bed to steady himself so that he could find the redhead's tempo in order to counter it, pushing himself against the man's urgent thrusts. Breath forced apart his dewy lips, panted, silent litanies spilling into the air.

When his body went taut -- as if Jin took a hand, grasped all the nerves in his body pulled tight on him as if he were a puppet -- Hwoarang's mouth gaped, a series of hoarse gasps erupting from his throat. Pulled tightly into and let go, Jin could have been doing the jerking which became erratic and inflamed, forcing the Korean to all fours. His lips strained after Jin's neck, and the loudest of cries slammed against the skin of that moist crook when Hwoarang flooded into him, his arms closing tightly around the Japanese's thick waist.

Jin squeezed his eyes closed when he felt Hwoarang's throes and the hot, slick spill that they produced. His arms curled tightly about the back of Hwoarang's neck, pulling him down so that Jin could devour his mouth again roughly; take in as much of the Korean and from as many entrances as possible.

Even if Hayase hated Hwoarang, and Mishima guards wanted him dead: Jin was his. Even if his lifestyle demanded an early death, and there was a demon in Jin: the demon was his. Even as copious ribbons of white continued to saturate Jin's tender glands with each lingering push, Hwoarang held onto him possessively, eating from his mouth possessively, burrowing within him possessively.

Jin's skin was tingling, and only now did he realize that it was from the slowly drying sweat which covered it. He had by now settled down into the soft mattress again, taking Hwoarang with him, holding him, drinking him, soaking him up. He stayed like that for the delicious eternity of the climax, and when it waned, was forced to expel the breath he had not even been aware that he was holding. He broke the kiss, pulling back enough for his eyes to focus on Hwoarang's face. And then he whispered,

"I love you."

Hwoarang breathed drowsily, lifting his eyes to stare back. They blinked slowly, endeavoring to stay open, but when the battle ceased and Hwoarang seemed asleep, soft words stepped from his lips. " .. I love you so much Jin .. " And that was dangerous; Hwoarang knew it.

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