title:                  fighting fire with fire

author:              Lady Charena

fandom:            Kung Fu – the legend continues

codes:              P/P, NC-17

 

sum:                 Caine re-lives his worst nightmare… Peter trapped by flames.

 

Disclaimer: This story’s mine, but I do not intend to touch the rights of the owner of the characters from KF-TLC I’ve used. No moneymaking, no offence meant. Lyrics from Marc Terenzi.

 

 

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Some people say that flames are no solution
So is this love or just a revolution
You've gotta fight the fire with fire
So let it burn and live for your desire

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He’d never know how everything could go so terribly wrong…

 

A call on the radio, on his way home. Means, he was on his way to Pop’s. They planned to dine together at the “Golden Dragon” and afterwards spent a quiet evening. Just what he needed. The promise of the evening and perhaps the whole night in his father’s company took him through a long, stressful day. And then he heard the call: A man threatening to set fire to the home of his ex-wife and their two little children. He was close, so he called in and - with a curse – curbed the Stealth, put the bulb on the roof and heeded towards the place. He parked behind two patrol cars and shortly talked to an uniformed officer to get the news. Situation hadn’t changed since the neighbors of the woman called the police. The man was still inside with the frightened ex-wife and two kids. Of course he knew he should wait for back-up – and for someone trained to talk the man out of his crazy plans to fry his family. Not to mention the people around. He hid the Beretta behind his back and slowly walked over to knock at the family’s door. For some long minutes nothing at all happened. Finally the door was opened. A small girl, about four or five years old, looked at him with big, green eyes, sucking at her thumb while she studied the stranger. Her pink-and-white pajama was printed all over with little animals. Her blonde hair needed a cut and covered half of her face. The pajama and the hair were drenched with fuel. The smell was stifling.

 

“Hi.” He squatted in front of her and was rewarded with a shy smile from almost white lips. “Can I get in and talk to your daddy, sweetheart?” He took off his jacked and carefully wrapped the unresisting girl into it. Her little feet were covered with red splashes and he fervently hoped it to be ketchup and not blood.

 

“Patty? Patty?” The panic-stricken but oddly muffled voice of a woman, obviously calling for the girl. “Patty, darling, where are you?”

 

He passed her into the arms of one of the officers and gestured him to take her away. He straightened and took the Beretta in his left hand. “Ma’am? My name is Peter Caine. I’m here to help you. I only want to talk to you. Is it okay when I come in?”

 

He waited – prepared to face either a frightened woman or a enraged man. But neither happened. “Please don’t be afraid. I’ll come in now.” Taking a deep breath he opened the door further and carefully entered a dark, short corridor. A child’s colorful drawings adorned the wall, different sized shoes made a pile in one corner next to a school-bag and a coat certainly belonging to the little girl. It was printed with the same little animals she had on her pajama. Still no sign of the other family members. He carefully entered the living room.

 

The sparsely furnished room was chaotic. Toys and clothes littered the floor, a low table was covered with paper plates and container still filled with take-out-food. He touched one of the containers, it was cold, but the noodles in looked fresh. Perhaps the mother returned with the food and her ex-husband overpowered her in front of the door. Perhaps she opened to let him in. Idle thoughts.

 

Dark spots on a sofa, already covered with stains and holes from a burning cigarette. The air was filled with the smell of fuel and made it difficult to breathe. He suppressed the urge to cough and went on.

 

Carefully he opened a door at the other side of the room. Obviously the child’s room. With drawn curtains it was very little light in there. Something soft gave in under his foot and nearly caused him to stumble. He stopped and lifted the puppet he’d stepped upon. Better to say the remains of a puppet. Somebody tore off the head of the small toy. Finding the switch, he turned on the light… and stood in front of another body. A man was sprawled on the floor, the knife in his belly still clenched tightly in his fingers. Blood pooled beneath him. A bloody print of little feet. Damn, no ketchup. He bent down to touch the man’s neck, but there was no sign of life.

 

He left the to search for the woman and the second child. In the kitchen the smell got even worse. He walked through puddles of fuel. Like the other rooms, this one was uninviting. Another door, one with a sliding bolt at the outside. Someone banged against the door, caught inside whatever space was behind it. He slide back the bolt, opened the door – and the next moment the world around him was aflame. Some hidden mechanism at the door set the fuel in fire as he opened the door. A woman tumbled out of the small chamber, dragging a boy about eight or nine behind her.

 

“We need to get out of here.” He grabbed the woman’s arm and tried to steer her towards the door.

 

But she resisted him. “Patty,” her voice was already getting rough with the lack of oxygen. “My little girl. She’s somewhere, we need to find her.”

 

“Patty is already safe, I got her out. She let me in. This way. Hurry!” The cheap furniture burned like paper, rapidly filling the air with dark, stinging fumes, making it difficult to breathe. Somehow he managed to get them out.

 

Trying to get air in his lungs, he leaned against a wall and watched the firemen doing their job. Paramedics took care of the family. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back old memories. This wasn’t the time nor the place to think about another fire…

 

A hand touched his shoulder, slid up his neck to rest at his cheek. He even know it before he opened heavy lids. “Pop.” Tears stung in his eyes as he looked into the face of his father. “How’d… never mind.” He tried to smile. “I’m sorry, I’m late for our dinner…”

 

His father only shook his head. “How do you feel, Peter?”

 

This time his smile was real. “I’m okay, Pop. Really. Do you…” Before he could say more he noticed the uniformed officer approaching them. “Wait for me, will you? I’ll be with you soon.” His father nodded and left. Once more he concentrated on duty, fighting off the memories.

 

* * *

 

They skipped dinner and went straight home. He wasn’t hungry and couldn’t stand the thought to sit in a mass of talking people. In silence he drove the car to the loft, parked the Stealth in the alley and went up the fire escape. Without a word he vanished into the shower to wash off the smoke, hoping to get rid of more than the stench.

 

A pair of light silk trousers waited for him, along with a cup of tea, when he returned. Quickly dressed he dropped down onto the platform and sipped the tea. It soothed his scratchy throat. His head dropped when he put down the empty cup. Strong yet gentle hands started to knead his shoulders and he groaned appraisingly.

 

“I saw you, Peter.”

 

He started to relax under the expert manipulation. “Saw me?”

 

“Surrounded by flames.” His father’s voice dropped even lower, so he had to strain to hear every word. “I was waiting for you… I meditated… and then I saw you. The flames…”

 

“I’m okay, Pop,” he hastened to assure him. “Nothing happened. I got them out in time and except for some bruises and a shock the woman and the kids are unhurt. So am I.“ He closed his eyes. “There was no need for you to come, but I’m grateful you were there. For a moment… the memories…” He stopped, fighting the tears that rose.

 

“I know.” Lips tenderly touched his neck, dropping a gentle kiss to his sensitive flesh. “I am very grateful you were not hurt.”

 

“I couldn’t,” he whispered. “You were there.”

 

Arms tightened around his waist and a mouth touched his ear. “Are you hungry?”

 

“No…” He leaned back into the embrace. “Yes. But not for food.” He sighed when strong, yet unbelievable gentle hands traveled down his belly…

 

* * *

 

He looked up at the body of his lover, his father, quivering over him, bathed in the golden light of candles. Every muscle defined in fluid bronze, thighs taut and cock arched out above him. It glistened with the moisture of his mouth. Eyes, filled with a intensity almost to bright to bear, captured his. He had to look away. Instead he looked at the cock again. The smooth, flared head flushed dusky red, the dark vein on the under-side, the shining droplet weeping from the tiny slit.

 

Yearning to taste it again, he opened his mouth and his lover leaned down, grasped his head and thrust into his mouth once more. Pressure, stretching, hurting, opening his throat – sensations filling his imagination with ideas so thrillingly delicious, he groaned around the merciless thing in his throat, as Caine rocked forward three, four, five times.

 

He spared a glance at his face. Caine’s eyes were half-closed, tousled head swaying. They had been doing this for a long time. It was like some hypnotic dance. Caine withdrew again, pinched his nipples hard and rocked back, rubbing himself against Peter’s own hard length, clenching his buttocks tantalizingly around the shaft, never gripping hard enough, with his knees straddling his hips.

 

He closed his eyes, fighting of a wave of dizziness.

 

“Please, Peter…” Hot breath brushed his ear, words whispered with a voice hoarse with passion. “Let me feel you. Let me feel you are alive.”

 

He gulped against the sudden panic, threading to arise in his chest. “Are you… are you sure?” They’d never talked about… it seemed unnecessary… it always felt right to be the one to be taken. He sucked air into his lungs as he felt his lover opening up himself, rubbing against his cock. He felt the warmth of the puckered opening against his flesh, bathed by the slippery pre-ejaculate.

 

A gasp hissed through his clenched teeth.

 

Caine’s heavy lids lifted and he gave Peter a look of liquid fire. Holding that gaze, he slowly reached back and grasped his rigid shaft in his hand.

 

Peter squirmed. “Please…” The breathless whisper was torn from him as his lover shifted his weight.

 

Slowly, slowly Caine eased downwards, mouth opening, groaning. He threw his head back as Peter, fully ensheathed, grasped his hips and thrust upwards.

 

The inferno of orgasm finally burned away every thought, every memory.

 

* * *

 

A long time later, soothed by rhythmic stroking of his shoulders, his thoughts began to calm, to settle, leaving the place of light to which their lovemaking had transported him. He kissed Caine’s collar-bone, licked at the slightly salty taste of his skin. Then he pressed his face into his fathers neck, feeling the strong pulse beneath the skin. “I love you. I’m in love with you,” he whispered. “I’ve never been so happy in my life… it scares me boundless… but I’ll never let you go.”

 

In answer, strong arms closed tighter around his body. He accepted it, knowing he would hear the words some day.

 

He survived another fire. There was time enough… all the time in the world…

 

They slept, wrapped in each other’s arms.

 

end