Samurai Champloo. Jin/Fuu/Mugen. NC-17. 1000 words.
They’re beautiful together, Fuu thinks.
Once she might have been the glue that held them together, but somewhere along the way they became a unit, complete and whole, and it’s reflected in the way they move, the way they make love.
Fuu wasn’t sure when she first thought about having them both, began to harbor secret little desires when the night was dark and she wasn’t so exhausted that she was asleep before her head hit the ground. But, even from the beginning she couldn’t think of one over the other, couldn’t pick, couldn’t choose. She’d always pictured herself in the middle; there couldn’t be any other way. The way they were, they would have to be held apart, her body a buffer, and she’d have to be quick with soothing words and distracting kisses if their hands happened to brush.
Only, when those private wishes had somehow become reality, it hadn’t been like that at all.
It still wasn’t.
Mugen always complains that she’s too skinny, that she has no curves and is flat like a boy, but when they do this his hands are greedy and his mouth is hungry on her skin. He is nothing but low sounds and scratching kisses, the wicked curve of his mouth full of dirty words that make her blush and press against him.
Tonight it’s him in the middle, his tongue between her legs and Jin behind him, pale skin on dark. Jin’s long hair has slid forward over Mugen’s shoulder, keeps getting in the way, keeps making Mugen snarl and twist to spit it out. Mugen never quite manages to complain, though; Jin always does something right as he gets the air for it, and Fuu stifles laughter between little trembling shudders when Mugen groans and gets his mouth back on her.
Even when things are sweet and slow, sex isn’t pretty, but they’re beautiful together, Fuu thinks. Mugen with his rangy muscles flexing under the scarred mapwork of his skin, and Jin who manages to still be graceful even when the rhythm is off, stilted and faltering. Sometimes, because of this Fuu feels like she doesn’t belong. She’s awkward in ways that they aren’t, but it never lasts, silly worries melted away by heated kisses.
Twist of tongue, arch of spine, teeth against the heel of her hand, muffled laugh giving way to a soft cry, yes, right there, like that. Do it
“Harder,” Mugen says, and the word is a rush of heat against the inside of Fuu’s thigh.
Fuu flexes her hands, shivers when Jin’s eyes lift to meet hers, and there’s a moment, crystal drop trembling on the edge of a leaf, that she feels like he’s buried inside of her instead of Mugen. That he’s asking without words if she’s ready, if she wants it, and Fuu flushes, opens her mouth and finds nothing but a moan.
Jin’s eyes drop, and then there’s nothing but the fan of his lashes, the shivering fringe of his hair, and the fierce thrust of his body that sends Mugen’s lips crushing against her.
The sound Mugen makes as Jin rocks into him hums into Fuu’s skin, resonates there. She is light, floating, anchored here only by the rhythm of his fingers. Mugen’s mouth is open, pressed against the bend of her thigh, and it’s Jin setting the pace now. Each time Mugen’s fingers push deep, it’s an echo, Jin’s raw thrusts filtered through Mugen’s body, softened before they get to Fuu.
“More, give me more, fuck, let me really feel it,” Mugen says, and it’s like he’s saying everything Fuu is holding trapped in her throat.
Feels so good so good. Can’t think. Can’t Can’t breath. Can’t figure out how to say how muchmuchmuch she loves them.
At times like this, saying she loves them aloud seems trite. During the day, the road is too long and food seems more important than love. They’d grunt, keep walking, and she’d hurry to catch up.
She doesn’t think they don’t love her, she just wants to hear them say it, to her, and to eachother. But, maybe, this is how they do that, soft growling sounds and little hisses like the slide of steel in place of I love yous.
And even if Mugen says she has no tits, and Jin never says anything at all, they still make her feel beautiful, wanted.
Fuu’s not sure what she makes them feel, and maybe someday when the fire has burned low she’ll ask, but until then she hopes it’s that they belong.
With that warming her belly, Fuu twists, dares to push back against the thrust of Mugen’s hand. She’s so close, almost there, edge of the cliff beneath her feet and the void looming dark and wide beyond. With blurred eyes she finds Mugen watching her along the line of her body. He grins wolfishly.
Time slows. Stops. Holds. She hangs there, arms out. They’ll catch her if she falls, but not before, not before
Everything hits at once.
Jin’s breath explodes and his teeth are on Mugen’s shoulder. He has an arm wrapped tight around Mugen’s body. Fuu watches Mugen’s grin crumble, twist, turn into a snarl, and then he’s surging up holding Jin’s weight on his back as his hands curl around Fuu’s hips and drag her towards him.
She gasps, shudders, feels warm and wonderful with their weight on her. She can feel Jin’s hand, the rhythm of it as it’s wrapped around solid heat, and that’s enough. That’s enough.
When it’s over, they can’t get apart fast enough; they topple like felled trees, Jin a stretch of long limbs to her right, Mugen a tangled sprawl to her left. They’re spent and yawning, inches from sleep just like that. Fuu smiles. She always feels more alive, more awake, but she doesn’t try to talk, she just listens to the pace of their breathing, waits for it to even out, sync together. And she alters her breathing to match.
Author Notes: An interval is the distance from one note to the other. Enharmonics are notes which are expressed differently yet have the same pitch. Enharmonic intervals specifically are two notes that are written differently, but occupy the same position on the staff, like C sharp and D flat.