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They disperse after the disruption at the evening meal, and the quiet of the temple's inner chambers has never been more welcome. Kung Lao sits cross-legged, the backs of his hands resting gently on his knees, not yet sunk too deep into meditation, when he hears the soft rap upon the door.
Liu Kang always knocks- a pretext of politeness, of concern at imposing in a space that all but belongs to him as well. The second room is little more than a formality at this point, but still a necessary one- moreso now that they find themselves in particularly coarse company. Any shame in what they are to each other, Kung Lao cast aside a long time ago, but the other so-called chosen ones are distracted enough without the comments such knowledge would invite.
Thinking back on the evening, he cannot help but chuckle. “You should be on your knees before this man?” he repeats, brow raised, lips curled into a teasing smirk as he turns to see his companion close and lock the door behind him. “I didn’t expect you to push our little farce that far.”
Liu Kang’s faint answering smile is infuriatingly serene. “He needed the anger to awaken his power.” He busies himself along the wall, setting each lantern ablaze with flames that flicker and dance along his graceful fingers. “It worked. And I said nothing that was untrue.”
Kung Lao snorts. “Fair. Neither did I.” He grimaces as he pops a sore knuckle shifted out of place in the day’s training. They may need every fighter with an arcana they can get, but it does not please him that they are reduced to depending on such scum. Kano is lucky for their desperation- otherwise, Kung Lao would have had the man’s neck beneath his heel the first moment he spoke to Liu Kang as he had. It would not have been the first time. “But,” he adds, stretching out his legs into a more comfortable position, desire mingling with the mirth in his tone, “he is certainly not the one I would choose to see in such a position.”
Liu Kang does kneel before him then, but only to bring them eye-to-eye. It's embarrassing, after so many years, the way Kung Lao's throat still goes a little dry when he's this close, still involuntarily traces the curve of his lips in the flickering lantern light. He’s beautiful- always has been, even as a starved little thing with too-big dark eyes hiding memories he refused to discuss. For all Kung Lao’s easy confidence in his skill in the training yard, all the genuine competitiveness between them each time they push each other’s strength to the limits- in here, he is putty in the younger man’s subtle hands. “Such impious thoughts at the dinner table, shī xiōng, ” Liu Kang says with feigned horror, as though Kung Lao has never felt the gentle brush of fingers against his thigh under the table, as though they haven’t been pulling each other into closets and dark corners since they were teenagers, bumping noses and laughing against each other’s lips at their own clumsiness. “How wrong of me to have tempted you.”
The absurdity of it brings another breathless laugh, another soft smile to Kung Lao’s face. "And yet you haven't stopped." The way he weaves his fingers into Liu Kang’s messy hair seems for a moment like how he might grab an enemy to do them violence, but instead, the kiss he pulls him into is tender and affectionate. Liu Kang settles easily into his lap, familiar as breathing, and for a moment they fall silent, communicating through touch as easily as they do with a single look in battle.
Slipping a hand under Liu Kang’s loose nightshirt, Kung Lao traces the bumps of his ribs until he finds the dragon mark and gently strokes it with the pad of his thumb. Liu Kang is always so humble about it, about his low birth and his miserable first years, but in a way it means far more than the matching one on Kung Lao’s chest. After all, he did nothing to obtain his beyond being born, born into a legacy that has brought both pride and pressure in equal measure. Liu Kang's had to be earned, with unworthy blood that had smeared onto Lao’s hands as he had encased Liu’s within them, felt the new fire burning there. I am one of you now, Liu had said, in the strange, flat tone of a kind soul who now knows how it feels to kill. You always were, Kung Lao had replied, but that was not entirely true. Kung Lao’s life has been driven by expectation, by a name he must live up to or be cast aside as a failure. Liu Kang had begun as nothing, with nothing to prove and everything to gain, and had blazed forth beyond all hope.
He presses a kiss to Liu Kang’s sharp jaw as clever fingers untangle the tie from his topknot and pull it free. Their lips meet again- still soft and reverent, neither pushing for more yet- and he feels Liu Kang's frown before he sees it.
“What is it?”
Liu Kang sighs, his mouth a thin, tense line. “Shang Tsung will return. Soon, I fear.” He combs his fingers through Kung Lao’s loosened hair- and if they tremble just the slightest bit, neither of them comment on it. “He will not wait until the tournament.”
Kung Lao shakes his head. “Lord Raiden will protect us until it is time.”
Doubt is written plainly on Liu Kang’s face as he answers, “...And after?”
Kung Lao wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer, until he can feel the warmth of that same inner fire as all those years ago against his chest. “Then we protect ourselves. And each other.”
Another silent moment passes between them, their foreheads resting lightly together, before Liu Kang cups Kung Lao’s face in his hands and speaks again.
"Do you remember our promise?” he murmurs, thumbs tracing the swell of high cheekbones. Kung Lao avoids his eyes.
“We were children.” The world and its dangers are far more real now, encroaching further upon their sanctuary by the day. But Liu Kang leans closer until their breath mingles, until he can’t help but look.
“But you remember.”
He does. How after Master Bo’ Rai Cho had first explained the meaning of mortal kombat and how perilous their lives would someday be, he had found Liu Kang hiding behind the great tree in which they sometimes played, wiping tears from his face before anyone could see them. How he had frowned, too serious for one so young, and told him, “You will not get far in your training if you are this afraid to die.”
How Liu Kang’s small head had whipped up and he had seen the first hint of the fire within him, years before it would manifest into something tangible. “I am not afraid to die,” he had retorted too-quickly, before he had swallowed, voice cracked from crying, and admitted, “...I am afraid to be alone again.”
That had silenced him for a moment, before he had shaken his head vigorously and replied, “You won’t be. They won’t beat me.” A pause, and then, “I’m not going to leave you.”
“We go together,” they had said over their small clasped hands, “or not at all.”
How they had declared their vow next morning with innocent determination to Lord Raiden, who had looked at them with the gentle air of an adult humoring children who know little of the world’s chaos- or perhaps of a god, all too cognizant of the fleeting lives of the mortals under his watch.
Kung Lao wonders if there is much difference.
They had whispered it a second time, after Liu Kang had returned, bloody and hardened and marked for inevitable battle. That time, Kung Lao had been the one to beg for reassurance.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, an echo of his own words remembered from so long ago.
Liu Kang the man does not snap as Liu Kang the boy once had. He merely sighs, voice steady but honest. “Will you think less of me if I say yes?"
Kung Lao shakes his head, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his companion’s ear. “I would think you foolish if you said no.” He leans in for another kiss, ghost-light, speaking against Liu Kang's lips. “And you are no fool.”
Liu Kang fists his hands into Kung Lao’s shirt, falling back onto the blankets and pulling Kung Lao on top of him. His hair is spread across the pillow in a black cloud, and like this he is so beautiful Kung Lao can barely stand to look at him. “Then promise me again,” he breathes, fingers shifting to pull at sashes and knots in search of skin beneath.
The truth of it is that Kung Lao would die for Earthrealm or for this man in a heartbeat, without second thought or regret- save that he would leave Liu alone as he had always feared, and he would rather disgrace his legacy a hundred times over than do so. The reverse- for Kung Lao to survive without him- is even more unthinkable. So he rests a hand on a well-muscled thigh, squeezing indents that will leave the faintest bruises, feels his own breathing begin to quicken along with Liu Kang's- and before they can lose themselves completely, he nods.
“...Together.”