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 is rated M.

Pairings: Hwoarang/Jin; Kazuya/Lee (implied)

This story will eventually run parallel on AdultFanFiction (AFF), where the interested readers may look for the full-on adult version (NC-17). The chapters that get made into explicit versions will clearly say so. The chapters that feature romance at M rating here (FF) will also be marked. If you are in this for the yaoi... it might take a while to get there.

Welcome to Intimate Rivals.

This story is dedicated to Razer Athane and Amarant Rose Coral for interest and support.

Intimate Rivals

by Salysha

Chapter 1: Tempers Running High

Jin Kazama woke to a sound that soon found company in more sounds. The travel radio on the bedside table read 1:42. He sighed wearily and rubbed his temples, wondering what had woken him up.

As an answer, more sounds emanated in increasing volume and frequency. Those came from next door: Hwoarang's room. Some were hushed, some were loud, and some were... were those moans? As an answer, a particularly passionate groan passed right through the wall, which was not at all that thin. If anything was good in this place, the walls were decent, which meant that the next-door neighbors had to be making one hell of a noise. The sounds made it painfully obvious what was taking place.

Embarrassment was Jin's first reaction; the second was an intense desire to have Hwoarang and his date shut up and not invade his space like this.

He got up heavily.

"Keep it down. People are sleeping." He gave the wall a couple of slaps and hoped the other side would take a hint.

As on cue, an honest-to-God, orgasmic moan penetrated the wall, and Jin nearly choked. This was past any civil behavior.

"I hear you! Be quiet!"

Jin slammed a fist into the wall for further emphasis, and the other room immediately fell quiet. A moment passed, and then another. A muffled sound came through the wall, and Jin frowned; that hadn't sounded like Hwoarang.

He returned to the bed deeply annoyed and buried himself under the covers, even slamming a pillow over his head for further emphasis. And he stayed that way, and nothing happened. The people in the next room had stopped moaning, although they still were not quiet. Jin, on the other hand, had lost the desire to sleep completely and was now only tired and bothered. This was not working. They were still going at it, and the more they carried on, the more irked Jin grew.

He got up, promptly walked out of the door, and headed for downstairs—anywhere to distance himself from the debauchery next door.

He could have used a snack, so he walked down the corridor and down the steps, missing by two inches the sprawled body of Bryan Fury, who appeared to have passed out on the staircase. He passed the lounge, where Jack-5 was resting—or was it recharging?—and finally reached the kitchen. He was so wrapped up in himself that he didn't even realize there was someone digging into the fridge before he snapped the light on. The other man rose quickly and covered his eyes with his arm.

"Fuck, that's bri— Kazama?"

Jin stopped dead in his tracks. Before him, Hwoarang stood, bare-chested, clad in black sweatpants, shielding his eyes, and holding a jar of something in his hand.

Hwoarang quickly removed his arm and defied the bright light with obvious effort. "You could have warned me. It's not nice to sneak up on people." He resumed fishing something out of the fridge. "Nothing to eat here—can you believe this shit," he said half to himself, half to Jin.

"Hwoarang!"

Hwoarang turned with a frown.

"Yeah, yeah, same one. Keep your hands off this; it's the last one, and I'm not sharing." He put the jar down on the table and, with a suspicious look at Jin, turned back to the fridge.

Jin looked at the jar, which spelled "Salted pickles" on the label. The tournament really had taken a new low if this was the best food in the house. Hwoarang muttered, "Unbelievable," and slammed the fridge shut. He cursed when it bounced back open. Stupid piece of worthless crap.

"Hwoarang, —"

"I heard you the first time—"

"—what are you doing here?"

"Pretending this is food."

"But you are here..."

Hwoarang frowned. "Do you have brain damage or something?" His frown deepened at Jin's obvious confusion.

"But if you are here—"

"Obviously," 'moron' went unsaid.

"—then you can't be in your room making love."

"What?" Hwoarang's mouth dropped. "WHAT? What the hell are you talking about, Kazama?"

Jin didn't have time to repeat before Hwoarang connected all the pieces. "Are you saying there's someone screwing in my room? In my fucking room?"

Jin nodded numbly. Hwoarang looked at him like he had grown a second head, but then seemed to be convinced that this wasn't a joke. The jar on the table barely missed getting swept away when Hwoarang stormed out of the kitchen. Jin hurried after him. Hwoarang stepped on Bryan Fury on the stairs, but Bryan was too far gone and barely grunted. Jin passed him more gingerly and followed Hwoarang, who moved at an admirable speed.

"Wait!" Jin lowered his voice when he realized how loud it sounded. "Wait, you can't just go in there. Knock, at least."

"To hell I can't," Hwoarang hissed back. He reached his door and paused just long enough for Jin to catch up with him. The moment of indecision was rewarded with a pair of gleeful screams from within the room. Hwoarang's mood darkened just a few notches more.

"Who the fuck is it?" He hammered the door. "I'm coming in, so cover yourselves. ONE. TWO. THREE."

Hwoarang turned the knob and barged in, slamming the door behind him, while Jin was left standing in the hallway uncertainly. He was sure everyone in the vicinity had woken up and expected doors to start opening and questions pouring in.

Muffled sounds came through the door, followed by raised voices. Surprisingly, no sounds of movement came from the other rooms. No one had even acknowledged the incident except for Jin, who stood in the hallway, feeling stupid. Unsure what to do with himself, he went back a few rooms and stayed just within sight of his room.

Voices continued to carry from Hwoarang's room. Jin thought he heard Hwoarang's elevated tone, but Jin could not make out what anyone was saying. He heard faint rummaging noises. A couple of minutes passed; then Hwoarang emerged from the room alone, his arms full, and kicked a suitcase out of the door. He balanced his load carefully and pulled the door shut with a slam.

He looked disorientated until he spotted Jin hovering in the distance and kicked the suitcase toward him. "I'm not going back there."

"They would not leave?" Jin asked, confused.

"I don't care if they leave. I'm not going there again." Hwoarang wouldn't even look at him. He was currently jamming the suitcase full of clothes and stuff, on top of toiletries and small articles that had been thrown haphazardly at the bottom.

"I don't understand."

"Look, that room's ruined for me, okay? It would take a fire to burn this whole place down to make it livable again." Hwoarang sounded distressed. He fished out a black t-shirt and pulled it on quickly. Jin couldn't see his complexion that well, but he had the feeling that Hwoarang was flushed.

Jin offered sympathy. "Too much?"

"Too— Yeah, that's it. And in my fucking room." Hwoarang snapped shut the suitcase, which was breaking at the seams. "Any free space around here?"

"You are kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"Sorry. But there's not a free space here. We barely fit in." That was true; the tour arrangements were nothing short of sadistic. The house that had a chronic shortage of food was in the middle of nowhere, and resembled a classic haunted house with odd room arrangements and creepy corridors.

In the basement, where the temperature never exceeded 50, Christie Monteiro had been booked to share a room with Craig Marduk, who wouldn't stop drooling when he heard the news. The panicked Christie had been saved by Julia Chang, and now the girls shared quarters in a distant part of the house.

Nina and Anna Williams had a room each—except theirs were connected by a door that could not be locked from either side. A betting pool was going how long it would take before either was found dead in the morning, but so far they fared free of casualties. Those who had gotten a room had been invariably placed next to their sworn enemies, and thus Bryan Fury, Lei Wulong, and Yoshimitsu occupied adjacent rooms. Jack-5 hadn't been given any kind of space, and after spending one night out and nearly freezing, he took residence in the lounge, making it unbearable for everyone else. Mokujin took root somewhere in the yard.

"I guess I could crash in the lounge. No, wait, Jackass Five is there." There probably wasn't a decent couch left with that thing taking up space, and the idea of closing one's eyes around a Jack's less-than-perfect circuits was never a good option.

"A motel?" Hwoarang spoke to himself. He promptly picked up the suitcase. "There's got to be something around here, right?"

Jin quickly hid his grin at the thought of Hwoarang going into the night dressed as he was. Jin shook his head. "King tried that the first night."

King had been given a nice big room with shining metal surfaces, spacious and clean. Only thing was, the space had been a meat locker taken out of use. He'd gone out to look for any accommodation, and returned hours later empty-handed.

"Not much left for me to do except pass out on the stairs like Fury," Hwoarang said wistfully. He sighed heavily.

Jin felt obliged to offer. "Wait. We can share."

Hwoarang looked up in surprise. "You serious?"

"It is not a problem."

Hwoarang seemed undecided for just a moment and then grinned sheepishly. "That would be great. Thanks."

They went to Jin's room, and Hwoarang turned to look at Jin and the single bed, the only one in the room. He broke the awkwardness before it even started. "How about I camp out on the floor?"

"You don't have to do that..."

"It's fine," Hwoarang dismissed the objection easily. "Anything is good. I just don't want to be stepped on."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Hwoarang picked a few thick garments from his suitcase before throwing it into a corner and bundled them up for cushioning. Jin was bothered by the meager lodgings, but Hwoarang's repeated assurance left him no choice but to leave the man on his makeshift bed. He did find a spare blanket from the bottom of a closet and gave the extra pillow away before plopping onto the bed.

The other room had gone quiet, and it seemed Jin would be getting his wish for sleep yet. On the floor, Hwoarang made a few shuffling noises before settling down. Jin relaxed and closed his eyes. They lay in silence, and just as Jin was about to fall asleep, Hwoarang spoke quietly.

"Kazama?"

"Mm?"

"Night."

Jin smiled ever so slightly.

To Be Continued...

50 °F is 10 °C.

Hearty thanks to Gypsie (Gypsie Rose) for proofreading!

Revised January 9, 2009.
Published December 18, 2008.