It's All Been Done

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Champloo or receive monetary compensation for this fiction.


The sword was held deceptively loose in Mugen’s hand as he eyed Jin. The pale samurai looked as calm as usual; Mugen couldn’t see his eyes because of the reflections on his glasses. There was always this moment in any fight they had, whether it was a fight as allies or as enemies. A dangerous hesitation when the fight ended and they were both still alive. Each waited for the time when the fight wouldn’t end.

“Are we done now?” Mugen asked casually, rubbing the back of his neck. A dozen yakuza bandits lay dead; they had been a much-needed diversion but hardly a challenge.

“Hn.” Jin wiped his crimson blade clean and sheathed it with a grace Mugen could never hope to match. Not that Mugen would ever admit it. His jealousy over the other’s polished technique and unparalleled skill would be one of the many secrets he would take to his grave.

Slowly, deliberately, Mugen cleaned his own sword and sheathed it; he took longer than was necessary and knew that Jin didn’t miss the implied threat. He also knew that the threat was ineffectual; Jin could counter any attack, no matter how sudden.

AWe’re done. Fuckin-a. I was hoping for a little more fun.” He stepped over one of the slain, heading for a creek running along side the road. As much as he loved blood, he hated the feeling of it drying on his skin. “These boys didn’t have much fight in ’em. How am I supposed to stay sharp?” He heard Jin’s faint footsteps following him which made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but he refused to turn. Reaching the mossy bank of the gurgling brook, Mugen quickly stripped and took a long moment to stretch sore muscles. He’d never been much taken with modesty. Modesty was for men with lesser endowments.

The water was warm and felt like silk on his dirty skin. He glanced back, hearing Jin enter the water. The pale samurai was far more modest than Mugen, though with perhaps less reason, Mugen mused. He’d seen Jin naked before, of course, but always in stolen flashes and unguarded moments during the dark nights. That a chance to oogle him in the full sunlight and without distraction was an opportunity Mugen would not slip by him. He really didn’t know why the samurai was so self-conscious; his limbs were graceful and well-proportioned, toned but not overly so. His skin was white and unblemished, save for the occasional scar. It had a bluish tint to it around the eyes and the hollow of his throat but was luminescent where sunlight struck it, filtered through the leafy branches above. The guy was too skinny, Mugen decided, determined to find a flaw. His hip bones jutted almost painfully, and Mugen could count every rib.

Jin was ignoring him, determinedly washing the blood and dirt from his skin, using sand to scrub where necessary. Mugen remembered he was supposed to be doing the same and got most of the grime off, deciding not to bother too much as he’d just be dirty within five minutes of getting out anyway. When Jin loosed his long hair, Mugen literally held his breath, transfixed by the sight. The urge to run his fingers through that hair, pull it, fist it was so strong he had to curl his fingers into tight fists.

Jin must have found it too difficult to ignore Mugen’s regard, because he blinked nearsightedly, hair hanging around his face in wet tendrils. “Do you mind?” Clearly he was not enjoying the audience.

“Naw, not at all.” Mugen ran both hands through his own tangled mop. “Just seein’ whatcha got. ’Course now I realize why you cover up all the time.” Mugen couldn’t resist the jibe, even though it was a bald-faced lie.

Annoyingly Jin didn’t rise to the bait, his eyes narrowing slightly but otherwise unruffled. That simply would not do. Mugen brought both hands down in a practiced gesture that raised a sheet of water, striking Jin squarely in the face. Jin sputtered and choked for a long moment, trying to get the water out of his nose and eyes. Mugen let out a long howl of laughter, delighted at the other’s distress. His amusement was short-lived, however, as he quickly found himself breathing water, Jin on top of him, pushing him into the sandy bottom. He struggled and thrashed, finally managing to wriggle from Jin’s grasp and break the surface, bringing one of Jin’s ankles with him and sending the samurai under again. They fought for a time, both out of their element, as it were, struggling to best the other. The victor was uncertain, however, and they both collapsed on the mossy bank, half-drowned.

“I win,” Mugen asserted, when he’d regained his breath.

“The hell you do,” Jin swore. “Clearly the victory is mine.”

“You wish, pretty boy.” Mugen looked at Jin consideringly. “You are, you know.”

“What? The winner?”

“No. Pretty.” It was dumb, of course Jin knew. How could he not? But Mugen felt the strange compulsion to tell him anyway. “Beautiful, really.”

Jin looked away, ignoring the compliment as he would the insults. Finally he said, “Is that why you want me?” He sat up, drawing his knees into his chest.

“Well, yeah.” How anyone could see Jin and not want him was beyond Mugen. “S’not the only reason.” He reached over, laying a calloused hand on Jin’s elbow. Jin didn’t shake him off, but he didn’t acknowledge him either. “Hell.” Mugen had never been particularly articulate- you didn’t need to be if you had a sword in your hand, but he knew he need to be now. “You’re all noble and stuff when everything else in this goddamn world is ugly and corrupt. You’re still you, strong and…and just you.” This speech wasn’t going as well as Mugen had hoped, but he decided to give it one last shot. “You…You’re my match.” He realized as he said it that it was true; Jin was his match and equal and there was no other in the world that could complete him like Jin.

He scooched closer to the unresponsive samurai, curling around him and resting his chin on his shoulder. “And you kinna like me too, right?” He slid his hands up Jin’s back, fingers kneading along his spine. Jin shivered in response, the only indication he was even alive. Mugen tried pressing a slow kiss to the side of Jin’s neck, tongue tracing patterns on the sensitive skin. Taking Jin’s silence as permission, Mugen worked his hands down Jin’s front. Access was limited since Jin’s knees were still drawn tightly to his chest. Mugen tried another avenue running nimble fingers along the outside of white thighs, but Jin caught his wrists before he got anywhere good.

“Stop Mugen.” Jin sounded more tired than angry.

“Why? You like it.” Mugen took an earlobe in his mouth, sucking and tickling.

“Things aren’t always a question of what we wa…ah…nt,” Jin’s breath caught as Mugen tried using teeth.

“What’s it a question of? Huh?” Mugen asked, pleased with the effect he was having. He ran his fingers through the other’s dark hair at last tangling his fingers in it and pulling Jin’s head back, exposing long neck. Mugen attacked, licking and nipping; he was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t notice Jin was moving, until he found himself sailing through the air and hitting the ground with enough force to knock the wind from him. Jin was on top of him a moment later, keeping him pinned, and kissing him with an almost frightening passion. Mugen struggled, trying to return the kiss and breathe at the same time.

Mugen reeled, incredulous that this could actually happen. He’d gotten so use to Jin’s constant refusals that it took him a moment to trust his perceptions. While his mind reoriented, his body responded, writhing under Jin’s attentions. He was so hard it hurt.

He nearly cried out in protest when Jin sat back. But the samurai held up a finger to forestall objections. “Wait.” From the neatly folded pile of his clothes, Jin collected a bottle of oil. Mugen looked at him, eyebrow raised in question. Jin gave a half-smile. “Semper paratus.” Mugen didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but if it meant Jin had lube figured it was a good thing.

“Hey, hey, hey- what are you doing?” Mugen protested, watching Jin slick his cock with oil. Jin just looked at him; clearly he thought what he was doing was pretty obvious. “Naw, man- I’m not one of those submissive types…”

“Really?” Jin’s predatory grin made Mugen nervous. “Come on, Mugen, you know you want it.” Mugen swallowed hard, hearing his own words turned against him. As much as he wanted to deny it, his burning flesh and aching cock quickly overrode pride. He almost held his breath as Jin spread his legs, hooking one over his shoulder and setting the head of his cock against Mugen’s entrance. Slender fingers oiled the sensitive skin, probing and teasing.

“God,” Mugen choked, “Just do it.”

Jin obliged, pushing forward, slowly impaling Mugen until he’d buried his entire length. Jin kissed him, and Mugen shuddered, caught up in the twin sensations of pain and pleasure. Jin waited until was ready to pull back and drive home again, steadily building a rhythm until he was pounding into Mugen’s yielding body. Mugen moaned and writhed, clawing at Jin’s back and pulling the silky hair. Jin wrapped a graceful hand around Mugen’s hardened cock and pumped its length with practiced ease. The sensation quickly proved too much for Mugen, who came with a strangled shout; Jin followed a few moments later, breathing heavily.

It took them both a moment to recover. Jin managed first, rising quickly and returning to the spring to wash their exertions away. Mugen watched him again, still enjoying the view but this time satiated.

“Damn, I had no idea you had it in you,” Mugen purred, impressed with Jin despite himself. They’d always said calm waters run deep, but he’d had no idea they’d meant sexually.

Jin emerged from the water, wringing out his hair and tying it back. “We should go.” Jin’s voice was cold and expressionless. He rose and mechanically gathered his abandoned clothing, and quickly began the complicated process of dressing.

“Eh, let’s stay here awhile. Don’t feel like going back just yet.” Mugen stretched expansively. “Damn, I wish I had some tobacco.”

“Stay or go as you wish, but I will return.” Jin, already dressed, turned and walked away, not even glancing behind to ascertain Mugen’s decision.

“Hey, dammit! wait!” Mugen called, trying to get dressed- where the hell were his geta?

But Jin didn’t even pause.


A/N: Yeah, pretty sure Jin wouldn’t know Latin, but if the creators of the show can be wildly historically inaccurate, so can I.