Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter 7
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & sexual activities.
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story. Maybe he became a citizen of the country he's going to college in... Yes... I think I like that idea... but I'm still referring to him as Korean, since that is his birth nationality.
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*
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Author's Note 3: Sorry it took me so long, but as I anticipated, homework is really picking up... *scowls* my anthropology class already has a pending assignment due *tomorrow* (was a week and a half when I first started writing this chapter)- four page essay on female circumcision... *shudders expressively* Wish me luck...
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Hwoarang groaned softly as Jin placed his limp form carefully on the bed. Sweat beaded on the pale forehead. "What now?" Tora asked, leaning against the doorjam with her arms crossed.
*I wish she'd go somewhere. I don't know what now!* Frustrated, Jin's lips tightened into a frown. Aloud, he only said rather snappishly: "I am afraid to attempt anything else on him; he resisted initially as it was, I don't want him to percieve my intrusion as a threat." After a long moment of standing pensively at the side of the bed, he looked directly over his shoulder at the girl. "What would you suggest?"
She held both hands out, palm up, to forestall the question, sighing as he asked it anyway. "You know I'm not as proficient as you with energy manipulation," she replied quietly. "If you really want a suggestion, look to yourself. Since as usual you won't tell me that you'd rather be alone with your thoughts- don't make faces at me, you know it's true- I am going to sit outside on the balcony and sing to the datura." Tora's realistic confidence in her abilities did not extend to her voice, which she rarely lifted in song when other humans were around. Jin had heard her before though, accidentally, and he understood why the datura plants *did* respond on some primal level; her voice reminded one of liquid silver and birdsong. He almost asked her to stay and sing for Hwoarang instead, but her comment had reminded him of his manners. He didn't want to upset her, which would be least likely if he had time to 'be alone with his thoughts.'
Seeing vulnerability in the Korean at this point was like viewing a mirror; as reluctant as he was to admit it, Jin empathized with his guest more than he had ever done with any other person he could remember, except perhaps his mother. *What did she mean, look to myself?* He heard a faint whisper of song from outside and realized he was still standing up. With nearly unseeming haste, he got out his artist's stool and sat it close to the bedside, perching almost delicately on it. Hwoarang's breathing had almost totally smoothed out to some semblance of normalcy. The sweat still stood out in tiny droplets, but his skin was vaguely chill to the touch. Jin put his head in his hands, mulling over his knowledge of healing processes and wondering abstractly what sort of affliction his guest was suffering from; it didn't seem like a simple cold. Of course, it could be stress-related, but Jin didn't want to think about that. He really knew little about his guest's life, except what he had gathered about the false identity Hwoarang used. That was all right though; he hadn't had much chance to learn yet. He was simply grateful to the powers that be, that the Korean hadn't decided to leave in the middle of the day while he'd been out shopping.
Jin watched for nearly an hour without noting much improvement. The Korean was obviously asleep, but the sweat continued to seep from his pores. Hwoarang's incoherent muttering kept Jin from falling asleep himself; twice, he had almost been able to understand the words. Fascination with the Korean's face and words faded as weariness began to take its toll, and the other half of the bed started looking more agreeable. After all, the Japanese fighter had been awake for the better part of three days. Now, beyond repressing his impulses, Jin took hold of one chill hand, intertwining fingers gently, halfway dozing. He was unaware when the hand clasped in his began warming.
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Hwoarang came to be fully awake with a stifled gasp, eyes flown wide and the dream still imprinted vividly on his eyes in inverted color. *This has got to end,* he thought, raising a hand to scrub away some of the sleep grit. He felt oddly out of himself, as though he were watching someone else maneuver his body from far away; his right hand seemed leashed to the bed. No, that was the sensation of a hand in his... The realization forced the dream to the back of his mind. He turned his head slowly and blinked at the sight that met his eyes: Jin laying beside him on the bed, fully dressed but looking almost fragile, with long dark lashes curled like butterfly wings against his cheeks, unruly eyebrows resting in perfect immobile arcs.... *Stop that!* Hwoarang cursed himself silently, face going quite red. *You're acting like a fangirl in heat!* He didn't try to extract his hand from his onetime rival's, though. It was peaceful laying there, just looking at the familiar face and thinking about nothing in particular.
The faintly amused voice startled him out of his stupor. "How are you feeling now?" Rich, dark amber eyes opened as Jin turned to regard him, a smile quirking at his lips.
"How long have you been awake!?" Hwoarang demanded, trying to cover his mortification at being caught gaping at his host in such a manner. He didn't get an answer beyond a raised eyebrow, and noted to his dismay that his face was heating up again. "You realize you're holding my hand...?" Silence. Just a smirk in response as he continued to stare into dark eyes- unwilling to keep looking but unable to break away. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out. Finally, face feeling hotter than a million suns, he shut his mouth.
Jin let out a small sigh, closing his eyes momentarily and releasing the Korean from their hold. "I never fell asleep; at least, not completely."
Hwoarang swallowed hard, concentrating on remaining motionless. "Why did you go out of your way to take care of me?"
His host laughed aloud. "Why did you go out of your way to assist me at the warehouse?" he countered with a wide smile, carefully not meeting eyes again.
"I don't know," Hwoarang confessed, contemplating the fanciful swirls of plaster on the ceiling. "It always bothered me that we pulled a straight draw; I dreamed about it for weeks afterward."
Jin turned to relax on his side, still keeping hold of Hwoarang's hand. *He isn't offended. He would have punched me or... or something by now.* Somehow the thought brought a mixture of reverence and hope, instead of the anticipated relief. "The draw didn't bother me. I didn't want to fight you, but I had to keep up appearances. Drawing was the only honorable way out I could see... especially when I discovered that you were holding back against me."
The Korean smiled hesitantly at his host, fighting the bewitchment of his gaze. There was something different about it that quickened his blood flowing through his veins. "You know you're still holding...?" he started to ask, heart hammering against his ribcage. Jin squeezed the faintly clammy hand and nodded, seeming not to notice the tension the gesture created.
Words fled from Hwoarang's mind as he rolled toward Jin, lips meeting lightly at first. When he met no resistance- indeed, strong arms wrapped gently around him in encouragement- he tilted his head a little and deepened the kiss, savoring the warm velvet touch. They lay there for a long moment like that, locked in a soft embrace, the need for words diminished; after all, the question they had both wanted to ask so badly had been answered. After a time Hwoarang smiled shakily and drew back with a sigh of contentment. "I guess it's a bit late to go to the party," he murmured, peering at Jin through his eyelashes.
"Not really too late... it was scheduled to last all night." He watched the Korean carefully, adding almost as an afterthought, "I wouldn't mind staying here if you wanted. How are you feeling now?"
*I hope that whatever he feels for me will last as he finds out more about me... I don't know if I could stand losing him again.* He shook his head to dispell such disquieting thoughts and sat up slowly, wincing as his neck popped. Hwoarang's smile lit his face with inner radiance that sparkled in his eyes. It seemed like forever since he had truly been happy.
"I feel... I feel as though I could win the Tournament four times over. In fact... I would go so far as to say a little air might be good for me."
*We both know what would be good for him, but I can't rush things. He might get the wrong idea.* Jin sat up too, his cheeks an adorable shade of rose as the only visible sign his thoughts were less than pure. He cleared his throat, aware that his mouth was dry, and returned the smile sheepishly. "Sounds good to me, but I'll need to put on something else." He indicated the almost formal attire he wore with a laugh. "This is wrinkled all to hell from laying down in it. Want to help me pick something out to wear?"
"Of course, I want to see your fashion sense at work," Hwoarang nodded, teasing. He got to his feet and stretched, marvelling at the relaxation he still felt. He knew on some level that his light mood was partially due to the new energy he had discovered on waking, and rightly attributed it to his host. "Not that I have any true doubts, with that sort of selection." They went to the wardrobe and began discussing the merits of the different fabrics, whether certain tints would clash with Jin's natural coloring, and what would be appropriate for the outing. At last they just started pulling out pieces of clothing at random to see what they were. *This is better than a store-wide clearance at Hot Topics,* Hwoarang thought to himself. "You still have those black pants with the flames running up the legs, don't you? I think those would go well with *this,* and that black vest you had out earlier."
"Well... of course I still have them. They're sort of like a keepsake from the Tournament; I only wear them on special occasions, but I haven't recently. I'll put them on and see if they still fit," Jin shrugged. He stripped with casual efficiency, barely giving Hwoarang time to realize he was wearing a pair of sexy obsidian-hued boxers before he'd pulled the black pants on. They fit a little more snugly above the knees than he thought they should, but Hwoarang's unvoiced opinion was that it looked lovely on him. Jin added the crimson tank top passed to him and the vest to his ensemble, and struck a pose.
The Korean's eyes went comically wide at the way the 'macho man' pose made the pants ride up obscenely, but nodded his approval. "It's missing something though; it needs a touch of chain or rough material somewhere," he managed to say.
The Japanese fighter stifled a laugh, paced sinuously to the back of the wardrobe, and gestured toward a small shelf. "Are you going to come help?" It really was funny the way Hwoarang scrambled to his side, but Jin had no trouble this time suppressing his amusement as they were interrupted.
"I thought I might find you here-" Tora's head addressed them from the doorway, then she paused to examine Jin's outfit critically. "Good," she said finally, "but I suggest a hemp choker and those leather platforms you never wear. I'm going to have a glass of water before I head out for the night." The head disappeared around the corner.
"She's right you know," Hwoarang sighed, sifting through the assorted necklaces with a slight frown. Jin pretended to be upset as he sat down in the floor to pull on the soft boots on and lace them up tightly.
"The hemp I can agree to, but why the leather boots? I don't need an extra half inch of heigth, I'm already too tall."
The Korean had to laugh, and his eyes fell on the perfect item as he did. It was a choker woven of thick tan colored hemp cord, embellished with one round jet bead between every knot. "Put this on," he ordered.
"Yes Master," Jin teased, but was secretly glad. Hwoarang seemed to have an eye for picking out his favorite articles of clothing to put together. He briefly considered mentioning it, but he wanted to keep watching to see what Hwoarang would pick for the next day- *Assuming of course that he returns home with me,* Jin thought hopefully. "I think this works just fine. Take another look, is it all right?"
"All right? Better than that," Hwoarang snorted with a wicked glint in his eye. "You look positively edible."
"I'll remember you said that," Jin purred, smirked at his guest's expression, and glided out of the wardrobe.
Fifteen minutes and a shared glass of chocolate milk later, two shadowy figures left the apartment complex heading for downtown on foot, talking animatedly in low voices about art and war...
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & sexual activities.
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story. Maybe he became a citizen of the country he's going to college in... Yes... I think I like that idea... but I'm still referring to him as Korean, since that is his birth nationality.
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*
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Author's Note 3: Sorry it took me so long, but as I anticipated, homework is really picking up... *scowls* my anthropology class already has a pending assignment due *tomorrow* (was a week and a half when I first started writing this chapter)- four page essay on female circumcision... *shudders expressively* Wish me luck...
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Hwoarang groaned softly as Jin placed his limp form carefully on the bed. Sweat beaded on the pale forehead. "What now?" Tora asked, leaning against the doorjam with her arms crossed.
*I wish she'd go somewhere. I don't know what now!* Frustrated, Jin's lips tightened into a frown. Aloud, he only said rather snappishly: "I am afraid to attempt anything else on him; he resisted initially as it was, I don't want him to percieve my intrusion as a threat." After a long moment of standing pensively at the side of the bed, he looked directly over his shoulder at the girl. "What would you suggest?"
She held both hands out, palm up, to forestall the question, sighing as he asked it anyway. "You know I'm not as proficient as you with energy manipulation," she replied quietly. "If you really want a suggestion, look to yourself. Since as usual you won't tell me that you'd rather be alone with your thoughts- don't make faces at me, you know it's true- I am going to sit outside on the balcony and sing to the datura." Tora's realistic confidence in her abilities did not extend to her voice, which she rarely lifted in song when other humans were around. Jin had heard her before though, accidentally, and he understood why the datura plants *did* respond on some primal level; her voice reminded one of liquid silver and birdsong. He almost asked her to stay and sing for Hwoarang instead, but her comment had reminded him of his manners. He didn't want to upset her, which would be least likely if he had time to 'be alone with his thoughts.'
Seeing vulnerability in the Korean at this point was like viewing a mirror; as reluctant as he was to admit it, Jin empathized with his guest more than he had ever done with any other person he could remember, except perhaps his mother. *What did she mean, look to myself?* He heard a faint whisper of song from outside and realized he was still standing up. With nearly unseeming haste, he got out his artist's stool and sat it close to the bedside, perching almost delicately on it. Hwoarang's breathing had almost totally smoothed out to some semblance of normalcy. The sweat still stood out in tiny droplets, but his skin was vaguely chill to the touch. Jin put his head in his hands, mulling over his knowledge of healing processes and wondering abstractly what sort of affliction his guest was suffering from; it didn't seem like a simple cold. Of course, it could be stress-related, but Jin didn't want to think about that. He really knew little about his guest's life, except what he had gathered about the false identity Hwoarang used. That was all right though; he hadn't had much chance to learn yet. He was simply grateful to the powers that be, that the Korean hadn't decided to leave in the middle of the day while he'd been out shopping.
Jin watched for nearly an hour without noting much improvement. The Korean was obviously asleep, but the sweat continued to seep from his pores. Hwoarang's incoherent muttering kept Jin from falling asleep himself; twice, he had almost been able to understand the words. Fascination with the Korean's face and words faded as weariness began to take its toll, and the other half of the bed started looking more agreeable. After all, the Japanese fighter had been awake for the better part of three days. Now, beyond repressing his impulses, Jin took hold of one chill hand, intertwining fingers gently, halfway dozing. He was unaware when the hand clasped in his began warming.
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Hwoarang came to be fully awake with a stifled gasp, eyes flown wide and the dream still imprinted vividly on his eyes in inverted color. *This has got to end,* he thought, raising a hand to scrub away some of the sleep grit. He felt oddly out of himself, as though he were watching someone else maneuver his body from far away; his right hand seemed leashed to the bed. No, that was the sensation of a hand in his... The realization forced the dream to the back of his mind. He turned his head slowly and blinked at the sight that met his eyes: Jin laying beside him on the bed, fully dressed but looking almost fragile, with long dark lashes curled like butterfly wings against his cheeks, unruly eyebrows resting in perfect immobile arcs.... *Stop that!* Hwoarang cursed himself silently, face going quite red. *You're acting like a fangirl in heat!* He didn't try to extract his hand from his onetime rival's, though. It was peaceful laying there, just looking at the familiar face and thinking about nothing in particular.
The faintly amused voice startled him out of his stupor. "How are you feeling now?" Rich, dark amber eyes opened as Jin turned to regard him, a smile quirking at his lips.
"How long have you been awake!?" Hwoarang demanded, trying to cover his mortification at being caught gaping at his host in such a manner. He didn't get an answer beyond a raised eyebrow, and noted to his dismay that his face was heating up again. "You realize you're holding my hand...?" Silence. Just a smirk in response as he continued to stare into dark eyes- unwilling to keep looking but unable to break away. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out. Finally, face feeling hotter than a million suns, he shut his mouth.
Jin let out a small sigh, closing his eyes momentarily and releasing the Korean from their hold. "I never fell asleep; at least, not completely."
Hwoarang swallowed hard, concentrating on remaining motionless. "Why did you go out of your way to take care of me?"
His host laughed aloud. "Why did you go out of your way to assist me at the warehouse?" he countered with a wide smile, carefully not meeting eyes again.
"I don't know," Hwoarang confessed, contemplating the fanciful swirls of plaster on the ceiling. "It always bothered me that we pulled a straight draw; I dreamed about it for weeks afterward."
Jin turned to relax on his side, still keeping hold of Hwoarang's hand. *He isn't offended. He would have punched me or... or something by now.* Somehow the thought brought a mixture of reverence and hope, instead of the anticipated relief. "The draw didn't bother me. I didn't want to fight you, but I had to keep up appearances. Drawing was the only honorable way out I could see... especially when I discovered that you were holding back against me."
The Korean smiled hesitantly at his host, fighting the bewitchment of his gaze. There was something different about it that quickened his blood flowing through his veins. "You know you're still holding...?" he started to ask, heart hammering against his ribcage. Jin squeezed the faintly clammy hand and nodded, seeming not to notice the tension the gesture created.
Words fled from Hwoarang's mind as he rolled toward Jin, lips meeting lightly at first. When he met no resistance- indeed, strong arms wrapped gently around him in encouragement- he tilted his head a little and deepened the kiss, savoring the warm velvet touch. They lay there for a long moment like that, locked in a soft embrace, the need for words diminished; after all, the question they had both wanted to ask so badly had been answered. After a time Hwoarang smiled shakily and drew back with a sigh of contentment. "I guess it's a bit late to go to the party," he murmured, peering at Jin through his eyelashes.
"Not really too late... it was scheduled to last all night." He watched the Korean carefully, adding almost as an afterthought, "I wouldn't mind staying here if you wanted. How are you feeling now?"
*I hope that whatever he feels for me will last as he finds out more about me... I don't know if I could stand losing him again.* He shook his head to dispell such disquieting thoughts and sat up slowly, wincing as his neck popped. Hwoarang's smile lit his face with inner radiance that sparkled in his eyes. It seemed like forever since he had truly been happy.
"I feel... I feel as though I could win the Tournament four times over. In fact... I would go so far as to say a little air might be good for me."
*We both know what would be good for him, but I can't rush things. He might get the wrong idea.* Jin sat up too, his cheeks an adorable shade of rose as the only visible sign his thoughts were less than pure. He cleared his throat, aware that his mouth was dry, and returned the smile sheepishly. "Sounds good to me, but I'll need to put on something else." He indicated the almost formal attire he wore with a laugh. "This is wrinkled all to hell from laying down in it. Want to help me pick something out to wear?"
"Of course, I want to see your fashion sense at work," Hwoarang nodded, teasing. He got to his feet and stretched, marvelling at the relaxation he still felt. He knew on some level that his light mood was partially due to the new energy he had discovered on waking, and rightly attributed it to his host. "Not that I have any true doubts, with that sort of selection." They went to the wardrobe and began discussing the merits of the different fabrics, whether certain tints would clash with Jin's natural coloring, and what would be appropriate for the outing. At last they just started pulling out pieces of clothing at random to see what they were. *This is better than a store-wide clearance at Hot Topics,* Hwoarang thought to himself. "You still have those black pants with the flames running up the legs, don't you? I think those would go well with *this,* and that black vest you had out earlier."
"Well... of course I still have them. They're sort of like a keepsake from the Tournament; I only wear them on special occasions, but I haven't recently. I'll put them on and see if they still fit," Jin shrugged. He stripped with casual efficiency, barely giving Hwoarang time to realize he was wearing a pair of sexy obsidian-hued boxers before he'd pulled the black pants on. They fit a little more snugly above the knees than he thought they should, but Hwoarang's unvoiced opinion was that it looked lovely on him. Jin added the crimson tank top passed to him and the vest to his ensemble, and struck a pose.
The Korean's eyes went comically wide at the way the 'macho man' pose made the pants ride up obscenely, but nodded his approval. "It's missing something though; it needs a touch of chain or rough material somewhere," he managed to say.
The Japanese fighter stifled a laugh, paced sinuously to the back of the wardrobe, and gestured toward a small shelf. "Are you going to come help?" It really was funny the way Hwoarang scrambled to his side, but Jin had no trouble this time suppressing his amusement as they were interrupted.
"I thought I might find you here-" Tora's head addressed them from the doorway, then she paused to examine Jin's outfit critically. "Good," she said finally, "but I suggest a hemp choker and those leather platforms you never wear. I'm going to have a glass of water before I head out for the night." The head disappeared around the corner.
"She's right you know," Hwoarang sighed, sifting through the assorted necklaces with a slight frown. Jin pretended to be upset as he sat down in the floor to pull on the soft boots on and lace them up tightly.
"The hemp I can agree to, but why the leather boots? I don't need an extra half inch of heigth, I'm already too tall."
The Korean had to laugh, and his eyes fell on the perfect item as he did. It was a choker woven of thick tan colored hemp cord, embellished with one round jet bead between every knot. "Put this on," he ordered.
"Yes Master," Jin teased, but was secretly glad. Hwoarang seemed to have an eye for picking out his favorite articles of clothing to put together. He briefly considered mentioning it, but he wanted to keep watching to see what Hwoarang would pick for the next day- *Assuming of course that he returns home with me,* Jin thought hopefully. "I think this works just fine. Take another look, is it all right?"
"All right? Better than that," Hwoarang snorted with a wicked glint in his eye. "You look positively edible."
"I'll remember you said that," Jin purred, smirked at his guest's expression, and glided out of the wardrobe.
Fifteen minutes and a shared glass of chocolate milk later, two shadowy figures left the apartment complex heading for downtown on foot, talking animatedly in low voices about art and war...