His Body, A Traitor

Title: His Body, A Traitor
Author: Merci
Pairing: Hwoarang/self
Rating: NC17
Status: Complete
Source: Tekken
Summary: Hwoarang is frustrated and takes matters into his own hands.
Feedback: I'm not asking for concrit on this one. It's betaed by me, so any mistakes are my own. If you enjoyed it, feel free to comment. I always love hearing back from readers.

Special Thanks: To Kat for listening to me talk about this one and read over the first draft. I’m dedicating this one to you, girl, even though there aren’t enough mentions of “creamy thighs” in here.
Warnings: Slashfic (Slash-fik) n. A fictitious story which contains sexual relations between two or more men. Masturbation, a little drinking.
Disclaimer: The characters found here do not belong to me. The story itself *does* belong to me.
Notes: This was born out of a need to see some self gratification. I’d originally wanted this to just be a quick, gratifying wank but it turned into something a bit more. Probably because I’ve been working on my other Tekken project (Unlikely Angel) that I’m a little more invested into the character developments that have happened in that story and brought them over here. I’m in love with the thought of Hwoarang and Jin being equal, so… yeah, this is a bit of reversibility stuffed into a solo story. Bla, not as hot as I’d have liked. Oh well.

His Body, A Traitor

A loud bang broke the silence in the empty hotel room. The door slammed against the wall, setting an indent in the plaster before falling shut behind the stalking fighter. The soft carpeting swallowed up the sound of his boots as he stomped across the room to the miniature fridge, full of expensive foods and alcohol that anybody in their right mind would avoid consuming in favour of buying the same for less from the store up the road.

Hwoarang was not in his right mind, and drank deeply from the bottle of rye once he’d cracked the lid. The clear liquid dribbled down his chin, which he wiped away with the back of his hand, his attention turning to his current predicament.

“Fucking Kazama!” he ground out between his teeth, his fingers clutching at the slender neck of the bottle as he sloppily unfastened the zipper of his pants. His straining erection popped free the moment the final tooth of his fly was released and he sighed at the alleviated pressure. The more he thought of the other man, met with him and fought with him, the more his body betrayed him with sinful thoughts and even more sinful engorgements of parts that shouldn’t have been aroused. He didn’t want to be aroused by the other man. He fought it, hated it, wanted it to return to normal, from before he’d even met him. He wanted to return to his old life of hustling and fucking women and not ever becoming aroused in the middle of a fight because he caught sight of the pert and very fuckable ass of his opponent.

The rim of the bottle found his mouth and he tilted the noxious liquid down his throat, the light of the bathroom clicking on as he peeled the remainder of his clothing from his sweaty body. He’d tried to avoid taking care of his errant erections. It was as if touching himself to completion would confirm the attraction. That thought had been crushed months ago, and presently he was turning the shower on as hot as it would go. He was setting the mood to jerk off, and any pretenses of having a simple shower didn’t even enter his mind. Why lie to himself?

Fuck that, he was aching to touch himself. He just wished that Jin Kazama was there to do something about it.

He leaned in to wipe the quickly-forming fog from the mirror, dusting the droplets of water away to stare back at his own frowning and bruised reflection. The darkened shadow under his eye stood out to him as a blatant reminder of their encounter. Not a proper tournament-fight, but rather a friendly bout. One little distraction and he’d been the other man’s punching bag. He fingered the angry bruise, puffy and ugly in more ways than one. “Great, just one more thing to make me think of that fucking asshole.” The room felt like a sauna as he toed the door shut, closing him into the intensely humid room with nothing but himself and his shameful lust.

His feet set upon the slick tile as he stepped under the scorching spray. It was hot, but not hot enough. It prickled across his flesh, reddening the skin to a screaming bright tone. It matched how he was feeling inside; burning and on fire… for Jin.

“Damnit!” the water spattered as he slammed his fist against the slick tile. He bowed his head to stare down at the erection springing from between his legs like a proud monolith, unabashed in its need to find itself between Kazama’s legs. Why was he having such trouble keeping it at bay, this desire?

He steadied his breath and threaded his fingers into his short, red hair, wiping the grime and sweat from the tournament from his tresses before lowering them to rub along his body. Blood trickled down from a reopened cut and mingled with the water in its spiral down the drain. He watched the hypnotic spin, his angry thoughts mirroring the spinning whirlpool and dragging him down to focus on Jin Kazama at its centre.

Kazama, Kazama, Kazama… when the hell did he find that other man so damn appealing that he was rushing off to jerk it to thoughts of him? Thoughts of him sprawled on a bed underneath him, all dirty and foul, maybe in one of those hotels where you paid by the hour. He just wanted to pull Jin down from that fucking high pedestal and fuck some of his filth into him. Wipe that goddamn frown from his face and make him scream his name. Scream for Hwoarang to give him more.

Oh god, his hands were gripping his erection with crushing force, his calloused digits pushing into pliant flesh and igniting his nerve clusters to a heat unmatched by the shower spray. He choked out a growl as his hips thrust forward into his own fist; right hand gripping the shaft so tightly he couldn’t squeeze the mushroomed crown inside. His thumb traced over the tip, parting the opening there before trailing around to grind against the underside. His other hand reached down between creamy, muscled thighs to playfully tease at his balls. He hated the sensation, but it was a perfect contrast to remind himself that he hated the man he pleasured himself to. Hated him for ignoring him. Would it have killed him to give him the time of day? Maybe bend over and say, ‘You get me so hot, Hwoarang. Why don’t you come over and fuck my asshole ‘till I forget why I’m at this tournament?’ he’d wiggle his ass and peer from between his parted thighs, gripping the meaty flesh and kneading in a welcoming exposure of that tightened pucker…

“Oh… fuck… fuck, Kazama…” Hwoarang’s imagination was clear and vivid, painting Jin with his own base and crude vocabulary. He’d barely heard the other man speak in full sentences and he was imposing his own desires into his speech. His own need to just plant his throbbing cock into that tight opening that he was almost sure hadn’t seen action before. He grunted, that thought spurring his hips to snap forward into his tight fist. His pride was wounded and aching from Jin’s rough treatment, though it was taking a far more damaging blow as the Korean abandoned his balls and reached around to part the globes of his own ass, brushing a finger along the entrance he knew hadn’t seen any action since the last time he’d masturbated to Jin. “Fuuuuuck…” He panted, his entire body slouching forward as he brushed along the clenched threshold of his entrance. Why did Kazama push him to this? Why couldn’t Hwoarang resist and just say ‘No’. Avoid touching himself and pushing a finger inside, not really believing he wanted it to be Jin, but at the same time, wantonly welcoming the idea. He’d regret it afterwards, but in the heat of the moment, he wanted to fill and be filled by that infuriating man.

“Damnit!” his fingers paused against that heated opening, just on the verge of parting the swirl of muscle that resisted half-heartedly. The last of his pride was fighting against this final violation, the final admission of defeat. To bend over and welcome Jin inside…

He couldn’t catch his breath; the beginnings of a throaty moan would break from his lips before he’d gasp for more air to release it all over again. Choking, repetitive pants that verged on a scream the moment his rough – oh-fucking-god, so rough – fingers thrust into that passage and his pride left him. His forehead found itself pressed against the cool tile, hot water splashing down his back as either hand was busy occupying his baser desires. “No, I’m not… I can’t… Kazama… oh, God…” the images of the other fighter filled his mind’s eye, switching from dominant to submissive until it was a steady stream of either man on top of the other. In one vision, Jin had him pinned to the ground and was grinding his hardness into the Korean’s clothed ass. He thrust back onto the fingers inside him. Another image had him kneeling behind Jin’s body, imagining that it wasn’t his own hand, but the ill-prepared entrance that he was pushing into; claming and closing down around him, driving him mad with delicious heat.

His visions had never been so vivid, but when his eyes were closed and his fist around his cock, he could imagine the colour of Jin’s eyes down to the faintest detail. The Blood Talon tasted blood from his lip as he worried the flesh between his teeth, though; the pain was not enough to distract him from his shameful act. His fingers tightened around his shaft, curling around the heated meat to exude excess pressure on the up-stroke. His hips snapped forward, the feel of his fist hitting his balls a delightful feeling, even as his fingers slid out from behind him. Oh god, he wanted to fuck Kazama so badly. So-so badly.

It would be just like their fights; he’d beat Jin down and then he’d tear those pants away and take him. Right there on the training room floor. He’d make Jin see stars and angels and whatever else people saw when they were having the fuck of their life. He’d make Jin Kazama beg for Hwoarang to jerk him off. He’d do it too, just to hear that beautiful tenor cry out. Just to hear his name on that man’s lips.

With every thrust into his hand, Hwoarang imagined Jin saying his name. Imagined that tight passage constricting around him. He’d grab those hips, abandoning any pretense of being gentle or considerate and thrusting with delicious abandon into that welcoming passage. Jin would accept him with his body, wrapping tightly around him and locking him in.

The Blood Talon thrust into his fist, arm moving at a blistering speed as he approached his climax.

His lungs were full of that thick steam that grew around him, pushed out as he bit on his rival’s name once more. That name that he’d ground out through angry lips every time they’d met. Those lips that had gone on to drink and smoke and curse the raven-haired fighter to his friends in the back room of many a bar. Those lips, drunkenly seeking out a pleasurable distraction from his impotent victory. Even when he fucked down into the willing body he’d found, it was never the same as when he imagined himself fucking Jin. Like he was imagining right then in the shower.

Jin was beyond a random lay. He wanted so badly to fuck him again and again and again.

The heat of the shower must have been getting to him. He bit his lip again to alleviate the insanity, but that throbbing pleasure was beating harder in his veins. His entire body was thrumming with his mounting desire. Desire to just thrust and thrust and find the stars of oblivion. Just jerk and pray that it alleviated his unquenched need for the other man.

His imagination reeled, driving to catch up to his body’s fast-approaching release. He’d lean down along the length of Jin’s body, maybe grabbing his shoulder to really pull him in hard. Hard enough for his balls to audibly slap against Jin’s ass. Oh, he’d fuck him hard. As hard as Jin begged to be fucked, and harder still. His hips jerked forward, angrily trying to push his member deeper and deeper into the constricting passage of Jin’s ass – his fist.

His head fell back, mouth filled with the scorching liquid and he choked out a name past the downpour. The man he couldn’t put from his mind or bring to his bed. The man that just wouldn’t go down, no matter how hard the Blood Talon fought. He felt the first familiar spasms deep in his groin and he tightened his trusts. Shallow and forceful until even they were difficult to maintain. His body tried to still, though he forced it to keep going, keep fucking his fist as the first spasms gripped him. His lips quivered, Jin’s name was a moaned declaration as his cock pulsed and twitched, shooting his load all over his hand and the floor of the tub.

Hot come shot from his cock, falling down to mix with the spiral of water falling down the drain. The sticky evidence of his desire for the other man washed away in a swirling flash and he was left twitching and aching for more than his imagination could provide. He shuddered, his hips continuing to press forward into his hand, the base of his fist pressing hard into his groin, seeking out the delicious nerve endings buried beneath tight muscles. His balls felt thick and heavy as they swang between his legs, dripping with hot water that trailed down his back and between the cheeks of his ass. It took all his strength to keep from falling to his knees.

“Kazama…” he breathed heavily, bowing his head so that his red tendrils fell before him, trailing water around his face. What the hell was happening to him?

The water ran over him, washing away any and all evidence of what he’d done, though his posture and position of his hands still told all. He was left feeling raw and hot, the aftershocks of his release causing him to jolt as he bent to turn the water off. He climbed from the tub, his body hot and steamy. A lobster-red arm reached out and long, exhausted fingers curled around the neck of the rye bottle, lifting the rim to his mouth as he toed the door open the rest of the way and stepped out into the room outside.

He was naked. He didn’t care. The room was cold and a delightful contrast. His body still buzzed with the glow of his release, though soon enough his guilt for giving in would take over.

“Fucking Kazama.” He lifted the bottle once more, but deviated from its course to his mouth and set it on the nightstand instead. “I can’t keep this up…” he rifled through his pack to find suitable club wear. He really couldn’t. He knew his body wouldn’t be satisfied with a little jerk like that, no matter how intense, and the next time he saw Jin, it would be up and ready to go again. He had to get out of there. Get to somewhere with loud noises and beautiful bodies that weren’t Kazama but could substitute for an hour. He’d find a beauty to take back and bed for the night. He’d fuck them until he was sure he’d spent all his seed. Fuck until he was all fucked-out and could only fight. Male, female, he didn’t give a shit so-long as it alleviated the pressure that rose inside him as he thought of his one and only rival. His match with the other man was scheduled in only a couple days, and if he had to hole up with his fist for that time, then he’d do it, damnit.