Disclaimer: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.
Warnings: This features m/m slash and yaoi, which means that two men are portrayed in a romantic, physical relationship. If that bothers you, skip this story and read something you are comfortable with. This story contains erotic scenes and is rated M.
The interested readers may look for an explicit (NC-17) version of this chapter over at AdultFanFiction (AFF). Only one chapter gets modified; the rest is posted as this original version.
Last Night on Earth
Everything was catalogued and carefully planned, and they were going over the list for the final time.
Hwoarang had lapsed into staring at the wall. "Sorry."
"It's not too many more. Let's finish this. It... it'll be done, then." Jin threw Hwoarang a concerned look before turning back to the checklist. He read out loud every item on the list, and, again, everything checked. It had checked the last time and the one before last. They had taken care of everything and prepared for the rest, and all was accounted for, from timing and explosives to seclusion and damage control to outsiders.
"It checks," Hwoarang said finally, eyes firmly on the paper board. "You have everything covered."
Jin nodded and set the board aside. They sat in silence side by side, thighs brushing, Jin empty-handed and stealing glances at Hwoarang, and Hwoarang looking at anywhere but Jin.
Finally, Jin spoke. "It must be done," he said softly.
Hwoarang just shook his head and looked elsewhere.
"I am sorry."
They had planned this together for weeks, though time seemed to have little significance when all that was left was measured in hours. It was a story that could only have one ending, and Hwoarang had gone along with it despite his initial reaction at Jin showing up at his doorstep, asking for his help.
First, he had turned Jin down. Then, he had beaten Jin down. Even the old animus had flared, and still Jin had kept coming to him, and finally Hwoarang had given in. He had listened to the plan, argued it vehemently, and tried to beat the idea out of the man's head... but, in the end, it was he who relented.
Jin Kazama would die and take the remaining Mishimas with him. With them, the cursed bloodline would perish, and the Devil Gene would be quelled. To lure his father and grandfather into a trap, Jin had pleaded for his help.
Jin had asked his help for a cold-blooded, premeditated murder. Hwoarang had accepted, and he hated himself for it. Sometimes, he thought he hated Jin a little, too. They had discussed this many a time and, as much as he hated it, Jin had kept his resolve and taken him along. As Jin pointed out often and emphatically, he was the only one left who even tried to fight back the dark, and he was losing the battle. That, Hwoarang knew; he hadn't forgotten about his stay in the hospital, even if he had lived to tell the tale.
In the end, Hwoarang had asked one question: Why him? Jin had looked him solemnly, long enough for Hwoarang to grow agitated, before giving a response that took the anger away, "You are the only one I trust." Since then, they had planned this carefully, covered their tracks, and acquired the components necessary to fulfill the plan.
They had become close. It was painful to know that, in a few hours, all the effort they had put into finally finding friendship and a level of... affection between them would be for nothing.
Hwoarang snapped into attention and realized he'd phased out again. "Hmm?" When Jin didn't respond, Hwoarang finally turned to look at the man. "Yeah?"
"I am sorry."
Hwoarang sucked his lower lip and hung his head low. He knew Jin was. Despite the possessed attitude Jin had even on the best of days, he wasn't oblivious, and he wasn't... indifferent. In his mind, the man probably was sorry, which still didn't change the facts of the matter, nor the events to come... nor the fact that, once Jin would be gone, he would be left alone.
Hwoarang realized Jin was expecting an answer, and that worried look he knew Jin had upon him was beginning to shatter his calm. A lump rose in his throat, but he forced it back determinedly. He'd be fine; this was just a moment of weakness that would pass once he got on his feet.
"You're a good guy, Jin," he said. He gave Jin's thigh a pat, squeezing it lightly. "Occasionally." His gaze wandered to the floor.
Something unexpected happened then: a warm hand covered his. He raised his eyes and saw Jin looking at him anxiously. His gaze drifted on their conjoined hands and back at Jin. As he stared at Jin in near stupefaction, he descried a whole different set of emotions accompanying the anxiety. Warm fingers curled around his hand. The eyes kept searching for an answer.
For a moment, the world stood still.
As their gazes held, things started falling into place. Something about Jin he had suspected, on some level, and something about himself he had denied. Something about them both that they hadn't explored.
A number of sensations ran through his body, all very pleasant and stimulating. Tilting his head and leaning forward, not believing himself what he was about to do, Hwoarang gave in to the pull. Jin simulated his actions. They met halfway.
Tentative at first, the kiss deepened quickly and found company in others. Their hands entwined for a strong clasp and their free hands found resting places on each other's waist and biceps, respectively, as one impossibly strong kiss prolonged. Eventually, they opened their eyes and retracted from the touch of lips that seemed to carry a hint of desperation.
Unconsciously, Jin wet his lips and pulled Hwoarang up and against him. Hwoarang, light-headed from the turn of events, allowed the strong body to engulf his and reveled in the contact.
"I'm going to take a shower." Jin's breath tickled his ear. Jin pulled away to brush their lips together, and with a last, lingering touch of hands and a meaningful look, he left the room.
Hwoarang's hand traveled to his swollen lips before he realized the motion, and he ran a hand through his hair with an embarrassed chuckle. He sank onto the bed to catch his breath, which came at a worrisome pace, unfit for a fighter.
He couldn't believe he was about to do this: to go along with Kazama's latest round of folly and bed the man. Or be bedded, depending on how the evening went... A sly smirk spread across Hwoarang's face when a few uninvited but welcome scenarios played in his head. He could see himself getting off on any of them and in all of them...
The shower went on in bathroom, and here he sat by himself, held back by nothing but... and at that moment, he was again reminded of the reason that had brought them together and led them to sharing a hotel room. It could only be a one-time deal. The thought was scarring, and frantically Hwoarang forced it back and sought control over his mind again.
He'd thought about it sometimes, about what Jin would be like. So what? Spend enough time with anyone, and the mind starts wandering. It didn't mean anything.
Hwoarang also knew why Jin was playing this the way he was: he was giving him a fair chance to back away. He could just lie down and pretend to be sleeping by the time Jin returned, and they wouldn't speak of this again. As Hwoarang heard the shower running and was acutely aware of his lips—tender, courtesy of Jin Kazama— he knew right then that he was about to cross the line headfirst and happily.
He took off to the bathroom, made a symbolic knock on the door, and let himself in. He paused as he caught a glimpse of dark, wet hair behind the shower curtain, took in the clothes laid aside in a pile, and, floating in his world of make-believe, started removing his own.
He shook off the discomfort. This was not the time to get bashful; they'd done the locker-room routine before. It hadn't meant anything, but this did.
As Hwoarang approached, Jin drew the shower curtain aside invitingly at the end of the tub and withdrew to the shower end.
Hwoarang stepped in.
The smallish tub wasn't meant to accommodate two, but they ignored the discomfort. The steamy air was invasive and sultry. Jin turned around at the other end, soaked and smelling fresh, even from a distance. Hair down, dripping as he spoke, and steaming hot, Jin made for a tasty sight.
With that, Jin relinquished the shower position. Bodies brushing, Hwoarang's front briefly connecting with Jin's backside, they reversed sides, and the pleasant, warm shower water hit Hwoarang's body. He let the water course through his hair, brushing through the bangs to allow it to sneak deeper and connect with his scalp.
Behind him, he sensed rather than felt Jin lean in. "I'll do your back," Jin murmured as he reached past him for a sponge— provided courtesy of the hotel—and lathered it with scraping noises. "That all right?"
"Hmm-mm," was all Hwoarang uttered. Galvanic pulses ran through his body, and his blood flow found a downward path at the prospect.
The slippery sponge landed on his shoulder blade first. Cheap and too small for Jin's hand in the first place, the sponge merely covered the palm, leaving the fingertips to explore Hwoarang's back with each delicious stroke. The other hand, lathered as well, kept on working the other shoulder blade, and the warmth that seeped through the touch into Hwoarang's skin had none of the feigned innocence the touch did.
Jin traveled down, bending his knees as he went. The hands caressed the small of Hwoarang's back, and vibrations of anticipation ran through the Korean's body. And yet, just as the hand and the sponge should have connected with the buttocks, they abruptly moved to the thighs.
Hwoarang groaned, and his entire body heaved. Goddamn tease, Kazama! He was sure the bastard was smiling, too, and indulging himself in torturing him. Quicker now, the said tease worked his way down his legs, as if they really were in this for the washing. Then, the hands dropped, knuckles making a sound on the tub bottom almost faint enough to drown in the cascading water.
"Turn around," Jin's voice carried from somewhere below, hoarse in sound.
Hwoarang gulped. He inhaled sharply and yielded to the request.
Before Hwoarang, Jin was crouching and looking up at him, face inches away from his length, which pulsed with life. Jin opened his mouth slightly...
...and gave him a full smile, showing a set of perfect white teeth, undamaged even after years of grueling combat training.
He began the soaping and washing routine from the ankles up, maddeningly ignoring the area that needed attention the most. Not even the lascivious, unabashed gaze he devoured it with could suffocate Hwoarang's desire to make Jin pay for his game, and he controlled himself with only inhuman resolve.
And then, Jin stood at eye level with him, hands still drawing circles on his pectoral muscles, seemingly spreading the last of soap there. He leaned forward then...
...only to place the sponge and the bar back onto the rack. Their crotches met as he did, and while his demeanor could have won an acting award for the polite indifference, he was steadily at half mast. Jin pulled back and let a hand drip across Hwoarang's chest, drawing away a line of soap with it. "Come when you are ready," he said. Jin stepped out from the tub, drawing the curtain back in place, and left Hwoarang in a state between aroused and infuriated. A few moments later, the door closed as well, leaving Hwoarang by himself with the seemingly endless supply of hot water.
The Korean blinked his eye and cursed Kazama. He turned to the shower and found, despite the well-justified frustration, that the soft touches and the hot water had left his body in a relaxed state, the obvious exception to the rule notwithstanding. He gave himself an absent-minded stroke. Hwoarang allowed the water to caress his skin and stretched his neck pleasurably, feeling the water to dribble down on all sides of him.
The mirror of the bathroom was covered in condensed steam when Hwoarang stepped out of the tub. He ran a towel through his hair and gave himself a dry before pulling one across his waist. He deemed it high time to join Jin's company.
Jin was lying on the bed comfortably, knees drawn up and legs spread wide. He turned his head and smiled.
"Aren't you wearing too much?" Hwoarang raised a brow at Jin's sweatpants and t-shirt.
"Maybe." The words were coupled with grin that was almost enough to make Hwoarang weak at the knees. Within the evening, Jin had already smiled more than during the time they had known each other. As he approached the bed, head tilted and a hint of a grin that fought to surface, he noticed a couple of items on the bedside stand. Jin hadn't come unprepared.
Jin noticed and started, "I didn't assume. I mean, I didn't know if you would— would consider..." The look Hwoarang gave shut him quickly enough and brought a titillating half-smile to his lips.
Hwoarang wasted no time in capturing Jin's lips for an open-mouthed, mind-shattering kiss, and the last shreds of apprehension vanished. Jin's hands came to grip Hwoarang's back muscles, and one knee lowered to allow full contact, shredding the last doubt that Jin wasn't every bit as needy as Hwoarang. As the towel around Hwoarang's hips began to unwrap, his hand traveled to retie it tighter, but a warm hand caught his and pried it away gently, allowing the towel to fall open and them both to finally stop holding back.
Jin was latched onto his side tightly, drawing shaky breaths down his neck in an attempt to calm down from the same aftershocks Hwoarang felt. Jin's arm rested across Hwoarang's chest, heavy and heated. Through the ragged panting, Jin smiled against his neck.
Hwoarang stretched his legs and gave a sigh. Eventually, he gave Jin a nudge.
"Move, Kazama. Let me up," Hwoarang said, unable to suppress the uncharacteristic happy look that tried to latch onto his face as tightly as Jin onto his side. "Let me..." he gestured toward the bathroom, and, reluctantly, Jin relinquished his hold. "Thanks."
When Hwoarang returned, Jin had pulled pants on and was waiting for him with two glasses of bubbly, clear drink.
"Just a little something." As an afterthought, Jin added, "To us."
"Yeah. Us." They clinked glasses and downed the drinks with less grace than genuine champagne would have deserved. Now that they'd calmed down and the fever had abated, the dread began to creep back in. In a few hours... Hwoarang squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head low. He felt shaky. No. It couldn't end like this.
"Don't," Jin said, his voice not so steady anymore. "Don't say it." In their heads, that translated correctly to, Please don't say anything to change my mind. "Please, let's just go to sleep. I'll stay as long as I can."
The pleading look and the appeal in his tone made Hwoarang relent against his better judgment for one last time and abandon the impossible hope that he could still talk Jin out of his self-destructive plan; that he would make the man stay, and this story could have a different ending. "Fine," he said weakly and sunk onto the bed.
Jin lay on his side, and they made an impossibly tight bundle of limbs of each other, Hwoarang subconsciously restraining Jin the only way he could. Jin, however, lay awake long after Hwoarang had fallen asleep, haunted in the dead of night.
In the morning, the alarm rang and woke Jin, still tightly entwined with Hwoarang. He disentangled himself carefully and closed the alarm. Hwoarang remained dead to the world.
By himself in the eerily quiet room, Jin showered and prepared himself for the final act. Eventually, there was nothing left to do, no clothes to straighten or errant locks of hair to groom, no deed to do except one.
Jin made his way to the bedside, leaned down, and kissed Hwoarang on the lips. The kiss was lingering and infinitely tender. When he finally let go, Jin Kazama walked out of the hotel room and into his fate.
It was hours later that Hwoarang woke, groggy. Reality hit soon. As the bed around him felt cold, as his lonely movements sounded in the room, and as he failed to feel Jin's presence, he knew it was done. Why hadn't he woken? Why hadn't... why hadn't they said goodbye?
Distraught, Hwoarang rose. He failed to notice the bedside stand and his champagne glass, the last drops in which now glimmered a shade of turquoise.
The room was clean and organized; his clothes from the night before were folded, the towels were hung to dry, and everything was orderly. A pile of belongings was neatly laid beside his and beside the suitcase: every possession of Jin's, apart from the clothes he was wearing, was there. Hwoarang felt sick at heart.
Through his blurring vision, Hwoarang noticed a piece of folded cardboard on top of the pile. He took the card and read the message, and couldn't, wouldn't, hold back the tears.
I love you.
To Be Continued...
Hearty thanks to Gypsie (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!
Revised November 22, 2008.
Published October 7, 2008.