Author's Notes: Well… I hope you like this chapter. That’s really all I have to say…

**Disclaimer**: Tekken is not… OMIGOSH! CREEPY CANADA IS ON!!!! *Runs away*

Stuck In My Ways

Chapter 3 - Not My Fault

By Chlover

Wind blew snow violently against the window. It had been storming for over four hours, and it looked like it was finally coming to an end. Of course, it was warm in doors, so it didn’t really matter. At least the TV was still working, but the Cartoons in the USA weren’t nearly as entertaining as the ones in Asia. Who the hell was that Skunk on that goddamn Bugs Bunny show and why was he such a stalker slut?

The previous night went well, considering what had happened, and who he was stuck dining with. It could have been worse. It could have been Jin dining with them. Of course, Hwoarang insisted on paying half the bill, it being more a matter of pride then anything else. Everyone obviously thought he was no good street trash, and they were probably right, but he didn’t want them to think that he couldn’t support himself. Even though they probably figured he stole the money. That guess wouldn’t be too far off; he did come upon his money illegally. Once out of the military, he resumed Baek’s old hobby of pit fighting, despite how hard such fights were to find nowadays.

Julia snuggled in closer, Hwoarang’s arm casually draped about her shoulders as he popped M&M’s into his mouth with the other hand. It was aggravating the way Julia kept trying to trick him into little romantic moments every now and then, but he had grown used to it, and learned to make do.

Hwoarang flicked through the channels, frowning at all the soap operas. What kind of television was that? Sometimes Hwoarang longed for the Asian cartoons he had been taking for granted. Damn vacations always took him away from the important things. Oh yeah… It’s not a vacation. It’s an important business trip, and if all goes well, the plans for creating more trees to hug will be in motion in a month’s time!

“Honey,” Julia moaned, half asleep, “Will you go to the store for me?”

An odd request for someone barely awake. He popped an M&M in Julia’s mouth and asked, “What the hell do you want from the store?”

She snickered, “Shampoo, more chocolate, a magazine, and orange juice.”

“They have shampoo here… oh yeah that testing on animals shit,” His eyes widened suddenly, “Did you say magazine?” He got to his feet, “No way.” He shook his head, holding his hands in front of him, defensively, “There is no way I’m buying one of those girly magazines again!”

“Hwoarang,” Julia crooned, grinning sleepily, “I mean an O magazine. Not Cosmo again.”

The Korean stood, staring at Julia for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not to refuse. He finally grabbed his coat and headed out the door, mumbling, “What the hell is O magazine. Sounds like some creepy convict thing. Isn’t there a fucking movie called O? Oh damn, this magazine better not be like that teenybopper, badass wannabe shit. If I get into a fight because some gay-bashers decide to do me in for buying this shit, I’m blaming YOU Julia!”

She laughed lightly and grabbed the bag of M&M’s, popping some into her mouth as she listened to the mumbled rants fade. That definitely wasn’t the same Blood Talon she met at the third tournament. He was changing and he didn’t even know it.

Ah. The sweet music of a roaring engine. Hwoarang sped down the street, going way over 35mph. damn small town speed limits. The wind breathed through his Jean jacket like it wasn’t even there. Damn cheap-ass stolen goods. Never as good as they should be.

There he was. Hwoarang drove by a fountain where Kazuya sat, reading a paper. He slowed to a crawl, contemplating whether or not to say hi, when out of nowhere, Tom and another one of the male tree-huggers lunged at the Older Japanese man, tackling him into the empty fountain. Hwoarang swung his bike around, revved the engine in an attempt to get their attention. That idea failing, he drove straight toward the one of the attackers that was standing right by the ledge. The person leaped out of the way, just before the bike could hit him.

Hwoarang leapt off, immediately attacking Tom, who was currently holding the Japanese man down. The Korean spun, bringing his heel down on Tom’s back, just barely missing Kazuya. The other guy leaped on his back, but that was easy to handle by a simple punch in the guys face, and splits kick as the guy was falling. Obviously tree-huggers weren’t cut out for the fighting life, because the guy was immediately knocked unconscious.

Tom stood and glared at Hwoarang, “I should have known you’d side with a devil. Just wait till Julia hears about this,” And ran off down an alley, before Hwoarang could even try his luck at Blackmail.

Kazuya got to his feet, smirking, as always, as he looked upon the redhead, “There was no need for that. You and I both know that I was fully capable of handling the situation. So why is it that you chose to put your own relationship in jeopardy to do something that wasn’t needed?”

Hwoarang paused and studied the other man; “I’ve been looking for a reason to kick that guy’s ass for awhile now. Besides… from what I understand, they’re not supposed to attack you until they know you won’t cooperate… Why do all yuppie guys think they’re so tough?”

“Why do all street punks think they’re so tough?”

“Touché,” Hwoarang grinned, “Now this has been a lovely chat but I really must be going to complete my mission… hey… You wouldn’t by any chance want to go to the store with me? You know, I’ll pay, you purchase.”

The older man shook his head and folded the snow-covered newspaper, “Since when does the Blood Talon run simple errands for a Chang?”

No answer was needed. Hwoarang climbed back on the bike and winked at Kazuya, “All I gotta do is buy the shit, then we can do what we want for awhile. She didn’t say I had to get back right away… Get the fuck on the bike, old man.”

Kazuya obeyed, smirking. As he secured himself behind the redhead, he put his arms around the leaner torso, and slipped a hand just barely down Hwoarang’s jeans. Hwoarang inhaled through his teeth. So close. The hand was so close, but not there. He shifted uneasily, trying to clear his head enough to drive, and proceeded to swinging the bike around, and speeding back down the street.

Kazuya leaned in so that his breath was tickling the Korean’s ear, and whispered, “I know this little place we can go. It’s a little bit out of town…” He teasingly nipped at Hwoarang’s ear, “Do you like pain, Doo San?”

“Pain?” Hwoarang breathed, having trouble concentrating on the road, “What kind of pain?”

“Yes or no, Doo San.” Kazuya ordered as he took out a knife and played it along the Korean’s clothed chest, hard enough to scratch, but not hard enough to draw blood.

Hwoarang’s breathing deepened slightly. Each time the tip of the cold blade pressed through the material of his shirt, he shivered. Perhaps he should have done up the jacket. He wanted to answer, but he was too confused and embarrassed to form words. It was too much.

Sarah was just on her way to see Julia. Her yellow BMW going just below the speed limit. She turned into the main street just in time to catch sight of that peculiar red head passing her on a motorbike. Sarah gasped, just noticing the knife being held to Hwoarang’s chest, and the man whispering in his ear. It didn’t look good. She stepped on the gas, and sped the rest of the way to the Hotel Julia was staying in.

Less than an hour passed. The door opened to reveal a dark room. Only one window on the roof allowed a small stream of daylight to shine upon a hard cement floor. Hwoarang stepped in, jumping as the door slammed closed. A mocking laugh followed, obviously from Kazuya.

Finally light flooded the room, flickering and threatening to go out, but didn’t. In the centre of the room was a large bed of nails, evenly spaced, and very sharp looking. A chest stood against the wall in a corner, and a chain hung from a beam on the roof. Kazuya circled the awestruck Korean, smirking, and studying his son’s rival.

Kazuya stopped behind Hwoarang, “Take off your jacket.”

Hwoarang complied absently, unable to take his eyes off the bed of nails.

“And your shirt.”

Shirt? Hwoarang glanced back at Kazuya, confused, and a little more scared then he thought he should have been, but this wasn’t normal. After seeing the gleam in the older man’s eye, Hwoarang obeyed without a word, out of curiosity more then his fear.

Kazuya did semi-circle around Hwoarang before continuing to instruct, “Lay down on it.”

After a few seconds of wondering what the hell the guy meant by ‘it’, It finally dawned on him. The bed of nails. Hwoarang shook his head, stepping back, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I didn’t even know they made those fuckers anymore. Where’d you get a thing like that? Are you some sort of fucked up serial killer or something?”

“Do not worry, Doo San,” Kazuya said, amused, as he walked over to the chest, “It will not kill you. The nails are too close together for that. Now, about that earlier question. Do you like pain?” When Hwoarang didn’t answer, Kazuya turned back to face him, “If you do not like pain, it would be wise to clarify, because I will naturally take your silence as a yes.”

Hwoarang walked over to the bed, and studied the nails. And he thought a devil alone was scary, but he was currently in a room full of what looked like torture devices and a devil. Some things were just a little too weird, but strangely tempting.

The Japanese man walked up beside Hwoarang, the knife in his hand. He pressed the blade against the Korean’s cheek as he kiss him, “Lay down, boy. Don’t make me tell you again.”

The words were more of a dare then an actual threat. Even though Hwoarang didn’t like being ordered around, he obeyed, crawling hesitantly on the suspicious contraption. He was too nervous to defiantly sit up like he would have normally done. The curiosity was still the dominating emotion in his mind, causing him to actually want to obey the larger man.

Kazuya eyed the bare torso before him as he walked back to the chest. He stood there, digging through stuff, but blocking Hwoarang’s view. Eventually he came back up, removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. He walked back over to the bed of nails and pushed a gag into Hwoarang’s mouth. “That’s so you don’t scream too loud,” he explained as he climbed on the bed, straddling the redhead.

Hwoarang bit into the gag, squeezing his eyes shut as the added weight forced him harder against the sharp nails, and definitely breaking the skin. The smirk from the older man didn’t help, but the painful sensation was almost arousing. Such facts were obviously known by both parties, judging by the look in the other man’s eyes. Sadist.

Large strong hands easily removed Hwoarang’s jeans, almost easier then the Korean ever could. The boxers followed, hitting the floor with little force. There he was, completely exposed on a bed of nails, his body being hungrily devoured by the eyes of his own rival’s demonic father. How did he end up like that? How could he allow such a situation to take place? Was it because of fear? No. To rebel against his girlfriend’s silent obvious demands? No. It was because he wanted it.

Kazuya didn’t waste any time. He slowly slipped his fingers into his mouth, drawing a desperate look from the Korean. After a moment of nothing; hesitating, only to tease his companion more, he moved his hand under the Korean’s backside, and forced a wet finger into the tight entrance.

How could something so wrong feel so good? Hwoarang closed his eyes again, not knowing what to do, or how. Men were foreign to him. Being submissive was even stranger a feeling, but he didn’t want to move for fear of the nails going in too deep. The nails. Even the nails digging into his back was almost comforting in a disturbing way.

“Do you want more pain, Doo San?” Kazuya inquired, exploring the interior of the younger man.

Hwoarang nodded hissing through the gag. His eyes were still closed. For a few moments, there was no response or further pain from the Japanese Sadist. The moments were unbearable, but they soon came to an end, as the sound of another piece of clothing hitting the floor was brought to the Korean’s attention. His legs were lifted and placed on what he guessed was Kazuya’s shoulders. Not 10 seconds later, something much larger then fingers was pushed into his opening.

Hwoarang cried out, almost spitting the gag out. As the other man thrusted, slowly at first, the nails scratched and pressed against Hwoarang’s back. The movement, of course, became faster, and rougher by the moment, until it was nothing less then merciless. Having both sources of pain combined was overwhelming, and next to unbearable, but not quite. He could feel himself absently bucking his hips along with Kazuya’s abusive thrusts. The Korean had difficulty keeping his whimpers and other pained noises down to a minimum. His back was being scratched raw from the nails, but if anything, it made him want more of the other man. More of the pain.



A/N: If it seems like I’m dissing environmentalists in anyway, I’m not. Hwoarang is! It’s all him!

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