I am procrastinating so-oo-oo-oo badly (at least I'm not the only one). The stress will hit me tomorrow. In the meantime, here's a little poem I whipped up for
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tekken_yaoi; the result of a prompt from
a sympathetic pairing generator. I have one accomplished trick and it's called RIVALRY. Sometimes I poodle around with the master/servant dynamic, but as of late that category's only seen attention with Anubis/Ra (
Stargate) and it's disturbing that as far as Google and LJ can tell me, when it comes to this interest,
There Can Be Only One.Anyway, have a poem.
"There was a young boy who lived in a tree,
Whose mother but died when he was fifteen.
The boy, not a man, went south of Japan,
And there met a fighter by name of 'Hwoarang'.
They twisted and clashed and made quite the scene,
The boy finally drew, lest he be called mean.
His grandfather surely would scowl on their brawl,
And dismiss his heir's new self-proclaimed rival.
For years would Hwoarang scorn his name,
For years would Hwoarang wait in vain.
When finally the fourth iron fist rolled around,
He saw Jin take flight, leaving him on the ground.
Embittered and bloodthirsty -- God only knows,
How Hwoarang had lost all sense of repose.
Belted and buckled, he went back again,
To pound in Jin's head and reclaim his Zen.
The chains and horns and claws were no matter,
When Hwoarand had spurs to counter the latter.
It had crossed his mind mayhap how to win,
Was kissing Jin hard while grasping his chin.
By all mortal reason it shouldn't have worked,
But now Jin was nuzzling and Hwoarang was irked.
The hands on his arse weren't entirely unwelcome,
And the tongue down his throat was a pleasure had seldom.
Ten minutes, fourteen belts, one drawstring later,
Hwoarang couldn't argue of who should be taker.
The devilish extremeties somehow were gone,
And neither now cared about which of them won."
x-posted from
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