Warning/Disclaimer: Nothing can justify this really. Me and some friends were watching a film the other day, and speculating some outrageous subtext/fanfiction ideas. Then I decided (because I am wrong in the head) that too often were these jokes made and nothing came of them! With the express purpose of traumatising everyone on my lj friends list, I wrote the following...

This is DEFINITELY not suitable for younger readers.

Remember, you have been warned – what has been read cannot be unread!

Things had begun awkwardly between them. At first she couldn't bring herself to admit her own feelings, certainly didn't expect him to feel the same way. But then she found herself making excuses to spend more and more time with him, despite her own denial. One day she came home from school to find him training in the parlour, stripped to the waist. Her breath caught in her throat. Watching the skill in his movements, the way his muscles moved and the sweat that was shining on his tanned skin, all doubt was lost from her mind.

Without saying a word to disrupt his trance-like state of mind, she removed her jacket and shoes and joined him in the middle of the floor. Together, they trained for over an hour, yet it felt like no time had passed at all, they existed in a single moment. Neither spoke a word, they communicated only through their eyes and the physical contact of their bodies. It only occurred to her how long they had been doing this when she had to stop, her aching muscles protesting against the prolonged workout. He seemed completely unaffected, which amazed her. How could he work out for so long and feel nothing of her tiredness? His body and stamina were incredible.

"Are you alright?" he asked, as she moved her shoulder awkwardly.

"Yeah," she replied, "I think I just twisted something."

"I could help with that." he said. "Just lie on the mat."

She did as he asked, removing her tshirt and unclipping the back of her bra as she lay down. She felt the cool air on her bare skin, and another, deeper thrill as his footsteps approached. The excitement at the thought of his touch made her blush. She hoped he couldn't see this, as he knelt down next to her and opened a small jar.

The ointment inside looked unremarkable, but had a pungent herbal aroma. It smelt at once exotic and strangely familiar. The smell was amplified by the heat of her body, and mingled with his own scent as he massaged it in with his skilled fingers. She closed her eyes and relaxed, feeling the muscles in her shoulder ease, while an entirely different tension was building within her. She let out a sigh of pleasure, and his hand lingered, perhaps just a little too long at her neck. Then, almost uncertainly, he took back his hand.

"Please..." her voice was barely a whisper."...don't stop."

He let out a deep breath. "This is wrong." he replied. But his hands returned to touch her nonetheless. She also knew that it was wrong, but her body was incapable of responding to rational thoughts at this moment. His hands reached to stroke her breasts, as he kissed her tenderly on the neck. Then he moved to peel away the remaining few clothes from her body. She half-turned to see him remove his own loose trousers. Perhaps he was not huge, but his size was impressive enough. She looked up and saw the troubled look in his eyes, but only for a moment, before it was overcast by the dark shadow of his own lust.

There could be no turning back from this now, and neither of them would have wanted to to. He pushed himself inside of her, slowly at first, but building to a faster pace as she responded vocally. His hands gripped her hips like iron, moving her, and she enjoyed the feeling of submitting control to him. Between her legs she was hotter, wetter than she had ever been, and the feeling of him moving inside of her was simply perfect. She felt her own orgasm building, and she could sense that he too was close. As she came, she felt his hands close around her neck and was consumed with sensory pleasure as everything swam into darkness.

An hour later, and Mr Miyagi had not moved from the side of Julie, lying next to him. He always promised himself that he would not, could not let it happen again. He was not a violent man. He had loved Julie, just like he had loved the others. Like he had loved Daniel. He just couldn't help himself. He closed his eyes against the tears, and all he could see was Daniel's face, his expression that had burned itself on his brain, as it changed from lust to fear. The body lying next to him was still warm enough, and through the haze of tears he could pretend that this was Daniel, still alive.