Chapter Text
The courtyard echoed with the clash of energy and the focused grunts of effort. Raiden, his brow slick with sweat and his robe half-open at the chest, sparred against Kenshi’s deliberate and punishing strikes.
The blind swordsman moved like water, fluid and precise, pushing the young god-to-be to his very limits. All the while, Johnny Cage lounged a few paces away, smartphone in hand, filming every intense second with an enthusiastic grin plastered across his face.
“Yeah, baby! Work that footwork, Thunder Kid!” Johnny called out, zooming in dramatically. “You got that movie star grit—just add lightning.”
Perched on the shaded veranda, Kung Lao stood beside Lord Liu Kang, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes burned—not with admiration, but envy—as he watched Raiden nimbly dodge a telekinetic sweep from Kenshi before unleashing a desperate bolt of lightning that scorched the training dummies nearby.
Lord Liu Kang’s gaze remained soft and proud. “He’s come far. When he arrived six hours ago, he couldn’t even steady the lightning. Now, he’s weaving it into combat instinctively.”
“He is impressive,” Kung Lao said, voice clipped.
Liu Kang turned slightly, smiling as he continued, “His growth is accelerated because of how badly he wants to succeed. He listens. He adapts. He’s fighting not just with power, but with purpose.”
Kung Lao’s mouth twisted faintly. “As if I fought without purpose.”
Liu Kang’s brow rose at the bitterness lacing Kung Lao’s tone. “Had you trained harder, you would be champion.”
The sting was sharper than Liu Kang likely intended. Kung Lao turned his head away slightly, eyes still fixed on Raiden. “I am well aware, Lord Liu Kang.”
The title came out sharper than a blade. The fire god was about to offer more soothing words—ones meant to mend the fragile pride cracking in Kung Lao’s voice—when a sudden crack of unstable thunder tore through the air.
BOOM!
A blinding white flash burst from Raiden’s amulet as his hand overextended mid-parry. The raw surge of uncontrolled energy exploded outward, sending Raiden flying across the courtyard in a spinning arc before he landed harshly against the far wall. Dust and smoke rose in his wake.
“Raiden!” Kenshi shouted, already sprinting across the field.
Johnny dropped his phone mid-cheer. “Dude—Raiden?!”
Lord Liu Kang vanished in a blur of divine speed, reappearing beside the fallen young man. But even before he could crouch beside him, Raiden was laughing—a light, almost boyish giggle.
“I’m okay,” he coughed, sitting up with a wince. “Just a sprained ankle, I think. The amulet’s just... cranky today.”
Kenshi was already kneeling beside him, guiding Raiden’s arm around his shoulders. Johnny pulled out a water bottle from somewhere and unscrewed the cap with shaky fingers, babbling, “Man, you almost exploded! That was wild. You’re like... Mortal Kombat Iron Man now.”
Kung Lao hadn’t moved from the veranda.
He just stood there, watching.
Watching Raiden—his best friend—surrounded by concern, affection, and praise. Watched as Liu Kang’s hand brushed Raiden’s cheek to inspect for burns. Watched as Johnny knelt to hold Raiden’s ankle steady while Kenshi reinforced it with subtle telekinesis. Watched Raiden smile, despite the pain, drinking in their attention like sunlight.
And in Kung Lao’s mind… he imagined himself in that place. His body injured, his efforts recognized, his pain soothed by Lord Liu Kang’s hand and voice. The same hand that now caressed Raiden’s shoulder. The same voice that had once told him he had potential.
His fists clenched at his sides.
The resentment inside him didn’t speak in words—it growled, low and bitter, coiling around his pride like a serpent. The jealousy was no longer just about Raiden’s strength, or even the championship.
It was about being seen.
And right now, Kung Lao felt like the only one still standing in the shadows.
The sun dipped lower, casting a soft amber glow across the training courtyard, illuminating the edges of Lord Liu Kang’s robes as he knelt beside Raiden.
Despite Raiden’s repeated assurances—“I’m fine, really. Just a sprain, nothing serious. I can keep going if you let me…”—Liu Kang silenced him with a gentle hand cupping his jaw.
“It is possible to train too hard, Raiden,” he said fondly, his voice thick with amused exasperation and open affection. The words hung in the air like honey.
Johnny let out a theatrical gasp. “Oooh, Daddy Kang putting his foot down!”
Kenshi smirked, folding his arms. “You’re going to be pampered now, Raiden. Enjoy the royal treatment.”
Raiden flushed bright red under the teasing, but that only earned him another chuckle from Johnny and a knowing look from Liu Kang, who slipped his arms under the flustered young man and lifted him effortlessly into the air.
Kung Lao huffed under his breath and rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt.
Ridiculous.
Raiden wasn't even that injured. Sprained ankle? He’d seen Raiden shrug off fractured ribs during a spar. But here Liu Kang was, cradling him like a fragile blossom. And of course, the fool was eating it up.
“I can still train,” Raiden mumbled sheepishly, squirming in Liu Kang’s arms.
Kung Lao rolled his eyes again. Harder this time.
Liu Kang chuckled, affectionate and indulgent. “No, Raiden. You will rest. I’m carrying you to your quarters, and you will stay there.”
Kung Lao was turning away with a third, barely concealed scoff, about to leave the over-sweet scene behind before it made his teeth rot. But then—
“Kung Lao…?”
Raiden’s voice. Soft. Sweet. Clear.
Kung Lao turned back, and his breath caught for half a second. Raiden, still nestled in Liu Kang’s arms, was now stretching his hands toward him—fingers open, arms out in the universal, unmistakable gesture: Carry me.
The tension shattered like glass. Kung Lao blinked.
Raiden wasn’t looking at Liu Kang.
Wasn’t looking at Johnny.
Wasn’t looking at Kenshi.
His wide, trusting eyes—those impossibly innocent, maddeningly devoted eyes—were locked on him.
“Lao,” Raiden repeated, a little pout starting to form. “Please?”
The jealousy melted. Vanished. As if it had never existed.
Without hesitation, Kung Lao stepped forward, his hands slipping under Raiden’s thighs and back. He could feel the warmth of Raiden’s body through the thin fabric of his robe—too thin, maybe, for how soft and warm the young man felt against him.
Gently but firmly, he took Raiden from Liu Kang’s arms.
There was a flash—a real flash, no lightning necessary—in the eyes of the onlookers. Kenshi’s mouth thinned. Johnny looked stunned, then mock-offended. Liu Kang’s smile faltered just slightly, not enough for most to notice.
But Kung Lao noticed.
Oh, he savored it.
He cradled Raiden close, feeling the boy’s arm curl lazily around his shoulder, Raiden’s face nuzzling unconsciously into the crook of his neck.
He chose me.
As Kung Lao walked off, carrying Raiden like he was the only thing that mattered in the world, he allowed himself the smallest, most wicked smirk.
They could all admire Raiden. Praise him. Even adore him. But in the end, Raiden’s soft voice had only called one name.
Mine.
As they moved farther from the onlookers, Kung Lao's expression softened, but the thoughts that roiled within him remained dark, possessive.
He held Raiden closer, feeling the firmness of Raiden's body against his own, and the seed of an idea took root in his mind.
The notion was intoxicating—Raiden may belong to Earthrealm, hailed as the Chosen One, yet in this embrace, he was Kung Lao's alone.
The door to their shared quarters creaked open under Kung Lao’s boot, the evening shadows spilling inward as he stepped inside, Raiden still nestled in his arms.
The younger man blinked slowly, dazed from exhaustion and the lingering sting of his amulet’s backlash, unaware of the storm churning just beneath Kung Lao’s calm exterior.
Kung Lao set Raiden down on the bed with a gentleness that contradicted the possessive fire in his eyes. He stood over him for a moment, simply watching as Raiden stretched, his robe slipping slightly down one shoulder, revealing more skin than he likely intended.
“You’re not done learning for the day,” Kung Lao said.
Raiden blinked up at him, confused. “But… I can’t train more with my ankle—”
“I’m not talking about combat,” Kung Lao cut in, his voice low, dark.
Raiden tilted his head. “Then what kind of lessons…?”
His innocent curiosity was almost too much. Kung Lao’s jaw clenched. He inhaled through his nose, fingers curling as he fought back the nearly overwhelming urge to throw Raiden down and take.
“Lessons on devotion,” Kung Lao growled. “Loyalty. Exclusivity.”
Raiden’s eyes widened as Kung Lao leaned forward—so fast, so smooth—and grabbed his wrists, pinning them above his head against the sheets. The younger man let out a soft gasp, mouth parted in stunned silence.
“This lesson,” Raiden whispered, the tremble in his voice betraying both fear and something more intimate, “when will you teach me, Kung Lao?”
Their faces were so close Raiden could feel the breath brushing his lips. Kung Lao didn’t answer. He leaned in, lips brushing softly over Raiden’s mouth—barely touching—before he mumbled against those sweet, quivering lips:
“Right now.”
Then he took him.
His mouth crushed Raiden’s, the kiss fierce, violent, demanding. Raiden’s body jolted beneath him, muffled noises of surprise lost against Kung Lao’s lips. He squirmed, his legs twisting as the overwhelming heat swallowed him whole.
Kung Lao forced his tongue past Raiden’s stunned lips, claiming the warm, slick insides with primal hunger. He angled Raiden’s head and pressed in deeper, tongue rolling against Raiden’s own, tasting, dominating, owning.
Raiden whimpered into the kiss, air stolen from his lungs, struggling and writhing under Kung Lao’s unyielding hold.
Just when Raiden’s vision began to blur, just when his lungs screamed for breath—Kung Lao pulled back with a wet, obscene pop. A string of saliva connected their mouths, hanging between them like a thread of possession.
Raiden coughed softly, panting for air, lips swollen and eyes glassy with confusion.
“How do you expect to be a champion,” Kung Lao taunted, voice low and dangerous, “if you can’t even break free from my kiss?”
Raiden opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Kung Lao latched onto his neck, sucking hard.
"Ah!" Raiden moaned—a choked, surprised sound—his body arching upward on instinct, his hands still pinned above him.
“C-Champion—?” he whimpered.
Kung Lao only chuckled darkly. “You can’t even stop me now, little thunder lad.”
His fingers were already at Raiden’s belt, undoing it slowly, methodically. The robe parted easily, revealing the pale skin underneath.
Raiden whined, confused, squirming. “K-Kung Lao? What are you—?”
A sharp tug silenced him. The belt was now in Kung Lao’s hand, and with practiced efficiency, he grabbed Raiden’s wrists and tied them tightly behind his back.
Raiden let out a soft cry, more emotional than pained, his eyes shining wetly.
“W-Why are you doing this to me…?”
Kung Lao leaned in again, his mouth at Raiden’s ear now, whispering, breath hot.
“Because, Raiden… you need to be reminded of where you truly belong.”
His lips brushed the shell of Raiden’s ear as he growled:
“Under me.”