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It still feels like a miracle, getting to spar with Jin after all that’s happened over the past two years. A laser-proof Combot testing facility isn’t exactly where Hwoarang had envisioned them getting back to grips with each other, but this is the only place in the facility that Lars lets them to fight without losing his rag over ‘safety issues’, and he’s been at the Yggdrasil base for so long now that it’s lost most of its absurdity.
Today, though, Kazama’s off his game. He’s already conceded a dozen avoidable blows, his reactions sluggish, technique sloppy. Hwoarang smirks as he ducks a punch from Kazama, and counters with a jab that clips Jin’s cheek, making him hiss and glower.
“This is all the fight you’re gonna put up?” Hwoarang sneers. “Really?”
Jin tries striking back, but the front kick he throws out is so telegraphed that it only compromises his own defense. Hwoarang dodges it with ease, sees the gap, and launches a counter kick that connects in full with Jin’s flank. It makes Jin stagger, but when he fails to recover, retreating a few steps and then dropping onto one knee, Hwoarang frowns.
Something’s really up.
He dips out of stance and goes to Jin, though he folds his arms and quirks a brow in lieu of helping him up.
“Seriously?” Hwoarang asks flatly, sympathetic as ever. “What, you couldn’t block that?”
Jin scowls up at him, then looks away and squeezes his eyes shut. He places a hand across his brow and rubs his temples between thumb and forefinger.
“It’s Devil.”
Hwoarang’s neck prickles.
Ah. They’re about due this.
It’s been a while.
“… you sure you ain’t just losin’ your edge?” Hwoarang links his hands and stretches his arms up over his head, affecting nonchalance even as his nerves start buzzing with anticipation. “You can’t go usin’ this as an excuse every time I take you out.”
Jin shakes his head and grits his teeth.
“It’s… agitated.”
“Yeah?” Hwoarang says, dropping his arms and offering a hand to help Jin back to his feet. Jin hesitates as though he doesn’t trust himself, but takes it after a beat has passed, and stands with Hwoarang’s support. “Well, I’m sick of it ruinin’ my fun.”
Jin stares at him, lips parted slightly as he parses the intention behind the statement. His eyes flicker with alarm when it clicks. He tries to pull away, no doubt to put safe distance between them, but Hwoarang holds fast to his wrist to stop him. Jin looks at him a little desperately, like he doesn’t know what to do, all caught up in trepidation and impulses that aren’t entirely his own.
“C’mon,” Hwoarang goads, grinning. “Let it out. I just wanna talk.”
Jin gulps hard, and shakes his head, though his immediate compulsion to get away seems to be diminishing. Hwoarang brings a hand to the side of Jin’s face, testing for a reaction - and at once, Kazama’s body locks up. He snaps his gaze to Hwoarang’s, his pupils contracting sharply, predator gold veining into his dark irises. Hwoarang’s heart leaps, all his synapses lighting up with fear and sick delight.
“What’s the matter, Devil?” he asks, smiling, expression full of feigned naivety. “Do you still wanna eat me?”
Jin makes a harsh, guttural sound, baring his teeth and flinching as though the question is tantamount to a physical blow.
“Hwoarang,” he warns, his voice pitching down and rolling into a thick, rumbling growl. “You’re… really pushing it...”
Hwoarang just laughs, even as Devil’s horns bud and lengthen.
“Who’s in charge right now, Jin?” he asks heedlessly. “You?” He brushes his thumb over Jin’s parted lips, then dares to slip the digit past them and trace the length of an elongating canine. “Or-?”
Devil snaps Jin’s jaw shut at once, eager for blood. Hwoarang snatches away and gives the monster no ground for advantage, seizing the roots of its horns to keep it at bay. Devil fights him on it immediately, shoving forwards, bull-like, into Hwoarang’s bracing hold-
-only for Jin to inhibit it in the next moment. The tension drops from Devil’s shoulders, its snarl lessens into a sulky scowl, and its pupils expand, bringing the essential humanity of its host back into its eyes.
Hwoarang grins, his laidback front offset by his racing heart.
“Ain’t so easy now, huh?”
The monster glowers, the third eye on its forehead manifesting to enhance its glare. Hwoarang just smirks back, then hooks his fingers round the back of Devil’s horns and applies pressure, urging it to step forward. It obeys automatically, and the proximity between them is such that their chests are almost pressed flush together. Devil huffs and grumbles and ruffles its emerging wings, but does little more than that. Empowered by its relative placidity, Hwoarang releases ones of its horns and trails that hand down the side of its neck. Its sulky expression falters at once, and Hwoarang thrills at the deep purr that rumbles up through its chest. Devil’s eyes lid, and it slides its hands slow into Hwoarang’s dobok, curving them indulgently about his slim waist. The craggy pads of its gauntlet-fused thumbs press just below Hwoarang’s ribcage, and he shivers as talons prick with conflicted intent at his back.
This is far from untrodden territory now. The first times Hwoarang and Devil tangled were messy, sure, real violent, bloody affairs - but from these scrapes sprang the revelation that the creature’s appetite for flesh can be tricked and wiled into something altogether more carnal. Now, Hwoarang has plenty of ideas on how to handle the issue long-term.
But even knowing the danger inherent in doing so, he can’t resist playing up to Devil’s prey drive.
“How’re you feelin’ right now?” he asks, teasing his fingertips up the line of Devil’s jaw. “Frustrated? Hungry?” He leans in so that he can feel the heat of Devil’s deepening breath against his lips. “You remember how I taste, right?”
Devil shudders and groans, and closes the gap between their faces. It presses its teeth hard to Hwoarang’s lips, not kissing him so much as snarling against his mouth. Hwoarang grins, even as his pulse quickens, and drops his other hand from Devil’s horn to give it more rein. At first it holds stiff and still, as though uncertain of the shifting boundaries - but then it noses under Hwoarang’s jaw, brushes its lips over the sensitive skin of his neck, dips its head and drags its tongue up the length of his throat. Arousal shoots through Hwoarang; he has to inhale sharp through his teeth to keep from making an undignified sound. Devil has no such qualms, purring and mouthing at him noisily - until, suddenly, it tenses again, and fixes its teeth to his throat.
Hwoarang inhales sharp. The breath escapes him in a thready gasp as Devil leans into its perceived advantage and establishes the bite more firmly, threatening to break skin. The touch of fangs and the hard pricking of claws around his waist invoke memories in Hwoarang of their first brutal encounter at the fifth tournament, sending old terror to the forefront of his mind-
But- no. Things are different now.
“Uh uh,” Hwoarang corrects lightly, keeping as much of the fear from his voice as he can manage. He ghosts a palm over the side of Devil’s face. “No bitin’.”
Devil doesn’t disengage immediately. Hwoarang feels the muscles of its jaw twitching between restraint and abandon, its tongue flexing wet against his skin. His good eye flutters shut. Perhaps it’s cruel denial to let it feel blood pulsing just beneath the surface when it knows, intimately, how easily his flesh would split under the pressure of its fangs. Gratification could be so easy…
But the power of Jin’s influence holds, and, finally, Devil loosens its bite and pulls back. It looks indignantly at Hwoarang through Jin’s fringe, whining its frustration and drooling like a dog, half-tame and undignified for it.
Hwoarang laughs, heady with terror-laced arousal.
“You’re so gross,” he teases.
Devil huffs, and butts its forehead to Hwoarang’s, dragging its claws in light, impatient trails down his back. Hwoarang smirks at its tactless angling - though, he supposes this is the best it can do in terms of communication, given that it hasn’t figured out how to use its voice in scenarios like this one. Right now, it seems to be under the impression that words are only good for levelling threats.
Its non-verbal requests are clear enough, at least.
No master of patience himself, Hwoarang slides his palm round to the back of Devil’s neck and brings their lips together, mindful of its horns as he tilts his head to ease its access. Permission granted, Devil returns the kiss hungrily, artlessly, immediately prising Hwoarang’s lips apart with its tongue and plunging it deep into his mouth. Hwoarang shivers delightedly at the violation, but grimaces when their teeth scrape, and pulls away to snarl an admonishment. Devil growls back, and seizes the crown of his head, holding him in place harshly as it crushes their mouths together again. Hwoarang moans despite himself. On a technical level, Devil’s probably the worst, most selfish kisser he’s ever endured - but there’s something repulsively hot about the disregard and shameless, visceral animality of its affections. He relishes the possessive grip it keeps on his hair, the wet, hungry way it laps into his mouth, and he’s painfully hard, exercising colossal self-control to keep from grinding his dick into its hip. He can only come across so desperate before it starts taking dangerous liberties.
Devil breaks the kiss with a gasp, having neglected to pay much attention to its own breath control in the midst of it, and leans its brow against Hwoarang’s again. The two of them can only pant raggedly for a few moments. After a span of seconds, Devil growls and brings a clawed hand to Hwoarang’s sacrum, steadying him so that it can roll their hips together. Hwoarang inhales sharp as Devil’s cock presses firm against his own through the fabric of their pants, and he has to push his hand into Devil’s hair and tug it sharply to remind it who ought to hold the cards here.
“You want more?” he asks. Devil nods, and nudges Hwoarang’s head with its own, its smoldering gaze dark and wanting. “Sure. But…” Hwoarang reaches up between them and drags his thumb over its lips, “show me you remember how to behave first.”
Devil needs no more direction than that, and Hwoarang has the unique satisfaction of watching it go willingly to its knees. It sinks into position without fuss, its wings draping low, feathers spreading soft over the floor. Nosing and nipping and kissing at the sensitive flesh of Hwoarang’s lower stomach, it fumbles with his dobok belt, and waistband after that. It knows to flex its claws away from Hwoarang’s form in the process of undressing him, lest it be disciplined or denied, though this damage control is easier to attempt than to successfully carry out. As it draws Hwoarang’s pants and underwear down, one of its thumbs superficially nicks his stomach, but the hiss it draws from him shifts into a low moan as Devil tends to the site with its tongue, lapping at the grazed skin to atone for its mistake.
Hwoarang cards his fingers through its hair, occasionally tightening them to affect assertiveness and keep from coming across too much like prey with its guard down. Despite all their gains, he knows it’s still unwise to give something as carnivorous as Devil this much access to his body. Even now, as it delicately sets a taloned hand at the base of his cock, primal fear makes him tremble.
But Hwoarang has long mixed peril and pleasure in pursuit of novelty - and the danger Devil represents is intoxicating. It’s a hit he can’t get anywhere else.
Besides: with its malice tempered, Devil’s little more than a maelstrom of instinct and unchecked hedonism. It isn’t tame by any means, but it understands how to comply if it means getting what it wants.
Devil sets its free hand on Hwoarang’s hip and looks up at him for permission. Hwoarang meets its gaze fondly, then takes its horns in hand again, his grip loose and light.
“Play nice,” he advises, smirking.
Devil huffs noncommittally, then dips its head and laps slow from the root of Hwoarang’s cock to the tip. He cries out when it flicks its tongue across the head in a very specific, practiced way, and flexes his hands around its horns, quivering as he anticipates its next move. Devil’s golden eyes flick up to find his gaze - then it traces its tongue across the circumcision scar beneath the crown of his dick. It digs its claws into the flesh of his hip, and growls, momentarily incensed. Hwoarang shudders and swears under his breath for what he can feel in it. The scar has always bothered Jin, sensitive to petty injustices as he is, but Devil’s fixation with it is shades more primal and possessive: it abhors any mark that it didn’t carve into Hwoarang itself.
For emphasis, Devil passes its free hand up Hwoarang’s torso until its claws find the divots and valleys of scars left from their past encounters. Hwoarang’s breath comes quick and shallow, dread and deeply misplaced excitement mingling at the prospect of fresh pain to follow; but rather than reopen the old wounds, Devil traces its talons over the marks with loving, harmless pressure - all as it takes Hwoarang’s cock into its mouth proper.
And it just holds there a while, neglecting to move or work him into its throat or do much of anything to provide stimulation. Hwoarang groans, and glares down into Devil’s self-satisfied eyes, fighting valiantly against the impulse to roll his hips and make it take him deeper. He wouldn’t hesitate if it weren’t for the changes Devil imposes on Jin’s mouth; the transformation peaks Kazama’s molars into deadly carnassials, and even the morphology of his hard palate shifts, its smooth surface valleying into a row of hard, brutal ridges. Here, a thrust too careless risks turning fun into regrettable agony.
So Hwoarang has to grit his teeth and breathe, and wait out Devil’s cruel stalling with his cock twitching between its lips and its claws teasing at his scars.
“C’mon,” he pleads thickly when his frail patience fails him. “Quit teasin’.”
Devil blinks slowly at him, some demonic proxy for amusement glinting in its eyes - and finally, finally, it sinks down on his dick, carefully taking him deep before pulling off slow. Hwoarang sighs raggedly, tension falling out of his body with the relief the pleasure brings with it.
And from there, Devil doesn’t let up. It increases its pace, letting its jaw hang loose just the way Hwoarang’s trained it to so that its tongue and throat and simple threat of its teeth do all the legwork. Hwoarang can only hold onto its horns and hold his hips steady as best he can, trusting it, against all sense, not to harm him. Saliva pools hot in Devil’s mouth and runs thick down its chin, soaking its throat and dripping to the floor. Its sloppy enthusiasm is in dizzying contrast to Jin’s own careful approach - Kazama almost makes giving head look dignified - and Hwoarang can’t help but wonder, in the comedown from these encounters, whether it has something to do with its appetite.
It takes him to the back of its throat, then, and holds him there a while. Hwoarang looks down at it, admiring the way his hips fit perfectly between the span of its horns. Fuck. It’s like they were made for each other-
And then its throat rumbles with a luxurious, rippling purr. The deep, pulsing vibration encompasses Hwoarang’s glans, searing his nerves with pleasure that bids him to swear, and buck his hips, and start fucking Devil’s mouth in earnest, caution be damned. Devil’s claws tense against his skin, but it allows it all, keeping its mouth agape so that its sharper edges do no harm. Heat coils in Hwoarang’s belly, the pure physical sensations compounding with the filthy soundtrack of Devil’s purring and the loose, wet suction of its spit-flooded mouth around his cock.
“Fuck-!” The word leaves Hwoarang in a high gasp. “Ah- shit! Don’t stop- don’t-“
Devil moans, its wings quivering and twitching - and then, suddenly, it sets both its hands at Hwoarang’s hips, and curves its claws so that they dig into his skin hard with every thrust. He yelps, and then groans when Devil pulls back suddenly, leaving his dick throbbing indignantly between them. He glares down at Devil, bridling, about ready to be spiteful and call the whole thing off - but Devil is looking back with predacious intent that makes his breath hitch, his heart skip.
Content that it has Hwoarang’s full attention, Devil abruptly swallows him back again. Hwoarang inhales sharp, and before he’s had a moment to readjust, Devil pushes its plush tongue against the underside of his dick, putting his shaft in firm contact with the top of its mouth - and then pulls up and off, inch by agonising inch. Hwoarang cries out as his crown is dragged over Devil’s ridged palate, his whole body wracked with pleasure that edges on exquisite pain.
He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t consider why Devil is passing its hands down his quaking thighs - and by the time Devil seizes the backs of Hwoarang’s knees, it’s too late. Hwoarang’s legs are dragged out from under him, and he hits the floor with a shout, only just bringing his arms down in time to spread the impact. Before he can do anything else, Devil bounds to cover him, mantling its wings over him like a raptor over downed prey. It pants hot and heavy, fangs gleaming, dripping, its eyes glowing vivid, predator gold-
-but its pupils are dilated, brimming with adoration and desire that is all Jin.
Hwoarang has to catch his breath before he finds the words to speak.
“You want yours?” he asks, propping himself up on one arm and curving the hand of the other over the clothed outline of Devil’s cock. “Reckon you’ve earnt it?”
Devil nods, growling and grinding into Hwoarang’s palm, eager for its turn. It hooks its claws into the waistband of Jin’s pants and drags them down until it’s able to kick them off, giving Hwoarang proper access to its dick. It straddles his hips and sets its hands either side of his head, and Hwoarang hisses as it bears down to press their shafts together. He wastes no time closing his hand around them both, his grip taut about their combined girth. Devil thrusts into it at once, and they gasp as one at the friction, saliva and a generous trickle of pre from Devil’s cock all they have by way of lubrication.
Restraint abandoned, they rough it out like that, Devil pumping its hips and Hwoarang jerking them coarsely. Devil finds Hwoarang’s mouth again, scraping its teeth over his lips before kissing him deep, and Hwoarang groans into it, shuddering to taste himself on its tongue. From the corner of his good eye, he can see it scoring deep ridges into the floor with its claws, and it makes him quiver, giddy to see proof of how much it holds back when it has hands on him.
Then, as if reading his mind, Devil leans back with an impatient snarl and closes its talons around Hwoarang’s wrist, dragging his hand away from their dicks to replace it with its own. Hwoarang makes a high sound, the rough surface of Devil’s palm several times more abrasive than his own - to say nothing of the sharp talons that threaten to scrape into him as it gets to working them over.
“Claws!” he yelps. “Shit-”
The swear pitches into a strangled cry, because Devil only growls and tightens its grip. Hwoarang whimpers, and curls his toes, and grits his teeth, dangerously close to the threshold where overstimulation tips into unbearable pain.
Devil purrs thickly, enamoured by his turmoil, and lowers itself to lave its tongue over his throat. Hwoarang’s breath comes quick and shallow when Devil shifts its supporting arm to bury its claws in his hair and pull his head to one side, exposing his jugular. Without slowing its pumping hand for a moment, it brings its mouth to Hwoarang’s neck once more, pressing its teeth either side of the pulsing artery.
Hwoarang locks up, his whole body going rigid with terror - but his fear response is fucked, and it’s scant seconds before he melts back into Devil’s carnivorous ministrations. Instead of cooling him off, the mortal dread makes him throb. Compelled by, and careless of the danger, Hwoarang lifts a tremulous hand to the back of Devil’s neck.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, gripping its nape. “One bite - that’s all it’d take-“
Devil’s jaw tightens, and it growls raggedly. For an exhilarating, mind-whiting moment, Hwoarang’s sure its restraint is actually going to fail - until, at last, it whines, and relinquishes its bite to nuzzle at the side of his neck, bloodlust successfully tempered by Jin’s protective instincts.
The fake-out coincides with a particularly well-angled stroke of Devil’s hand, and Hwoarang makes a ruined sound, arching into it, the pressure and urgency in his body amping to a peak.
“Fuck!” he gasps, pitching his hips and dragging his nails down Devil’s spine. “Right there-“
Devil pushes into the scratching, its eyes slipping shut with the weight of impending ecstasy. Hwoarang doesn’t like that - he isn’t some forgettable prey animal for Devil to toy with - and he slips a thumb into its fanged mouth.
“Hey! Look at me,” he commands. Devil obeys at once, golden eyes lidded and woozy. “Fuck - that’s it. Good boy-”
The monster keens, staggering into its orgasm - and as it comes undone, it touches its carnassials to Hwoarang’s thumb with the gentlest, most harmless pressure, inhibiting its deadly bite even through the rut of its climax. It’s all Hwoarang can take, and he follows, gasping with relief and finality and pushing into Devil’s brutal hand as they both pulse cum over his stomach.
They work out the last of it in gasps and slow, increasingly formless thrusts. At last, Devil drops its hand away, and they both fall boneless against the floor, drawing their breath in long, satisfied sighs. Hwoarang is entirely without caution now. His impaired vigilance isn’t undue; Devil only scoots down a little, its movement inelegant and heavy post-orgasm, to lap their cum off of Hwoarang’s belly, purring all the while. Hwoarang huffs appreciatively, and pets a hand through its hair until it finishes the job and drags itself back up so that their faces are level.
“Mine,” it murmurs, its resonant voice thready with disuse.
Hwoarang smirks faintly and draws it in for another kiss, closing his eye as their lips meet. It slides its tongue into his mouth again, but its approach is languid now, indulgent and lazy. In the space of the kiss, its wings retract and then are gone, and its claws and horns follow. The fangs are last to go, diminishing as it bites gently at his lower lip and pulls away.
Hwoarang opens his eye and at last finds Jin looking back at him. He smiles and sighs, relieved, then brings a hand up to brush the side of his face.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Jin repeats, a little bleary.
“You feelin’ better now?”
“I-“ The haze of Jin’s afterglow and post-Devil mindfog lift swiftly, and his hands are passing over Hwoarang’s chest, searching for injuries his baser half might have dealt him. He asks, frantic, “Are you alright?”
“Sure,” Hwoarang replies, luxuriating under Jin’s needless fussing. “Y’know, I feel like we’re makin’ real progress. It didn’t even draw blood this time.”
Jin pauses. He looks Hwoarang over slowly, then sighs deep, setting him with a stern look.
“Stop encouraging it to kill you.”
Hwoarang yawns.
“I don’t think it would now. Chew toys ain’t so fun when they stop squeakin’.” Jin winces. Hwoarang rolls his eyes. “C’mon - you’ve got enough hold on it now to keep it from gettin’ too mean.”
“I don’t think you should keep testing that.”
Grinning, Hwoarang slides a hand under Jin’s chin, gripping lightly about his jaw. “We could get a muzzle fitted for ya if you’re that wound up about it.”
Jin pulls away, stony-faced but blushing.
“I hope no one’s on surveillance today,” he diverts.
“I forget this whole place is rigged up.” Hwoarang sits up, stretches, and glances around the room - though, of course, none of the cameras are visible to the naked eye. “That was probably the most challengin’ wank Lee’s had in a while.”
Jin’s concern is supplanted abruptly by withering disappointment.
“I’ve changed my mind. Devil can eat you next time.”
“Hot.”
Jin’s flat expression doesn’t shift. For a few moments, there is silence - until, unmoved, Hwoarang speaks again.
“Can we finish our fight?”
Jin plants a hand on his chest and shoves him over. Hwoarang falls back with an indignant yell, but Jin pays him no heed, getting up instead to retrieve his discarded zubon and make himself half-decent for the walk to the showers. It’s a brief reprieve; Hwoarang is soon hopping after him, dragging his pants back on as he makes the case for a little extra sparring. It’s not like Kazama doesn’t owe him for fighting so shoddy earlier…