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A rumor goes around that the new girl at the local brothel is bad. Not bad, in a way that might make men leer and lick their lips. No, just bad. Bad at seduction, bad at small talk, bad at sex.
Mugen wanders into town, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his ears prick up at the story.
She’s a beauty, all right, a man says. I’ve seen her in the windows. But I’ve heard her technique is..
Yeah I’ve had her, his mate adds. No good at all. Awkward, and slow, and nervous. Normally that’d be my type, but, I dunno. It’s off.
Maybe you’re not her type, a third man laughs, elbowing his friend.
Even if that were true, he defends, reddening, it’s her job to pretend!
Yeah, the first man nods. She’s off.
Mugen picks up pieces of the story as the days go by: she’s a young girl, big brown eyes, and slim white hands. She has the innocent look of a doe in the forest, someone waxes. She smiles like a sunflower, another adds. She has a faraway look in her eyes, like she's seen all of Japan.
However, this is the inevitable conclusion: she’s pretty as a picture, but a terrible courtesan overall.
//
He finds her that night, seated in the window far back from the street. Mugen slinks into view, eyes skimming over the coy, painted faces of the other women before landing on her. She’s not wearing pink, but rather yellow and green, to complete the comparison to a sunflower he supposes. Her hair is pulled back from her face, not floating in the childlike way he remembers. But her shoulders are still skinny, even gangly, and she looks dreadfully out of place amongst the beauties in the window.
He points, and she notices him for the first time. Her eyes blow wide, and her mouth starts to open in the shape of his name, but he cuts her off.
“I want her.”
//
“What are you doing here, Mugen?” she cries, leaning forward, as soon as he steps into the prepared room. The lamps are lit, the sake bottle is set out, and the futon is discreetly placed nearby, the blanket folded back invitingly.
Mugen doesn’t answer immediately, stepping out of his geta and closing the door behind him. When he turns back, she’s leaning forward on her hands, the kimono sleeves billowing at her sides like wings. Already, a strand of her hair has escaped her updo, coiling in the humidity near her chin.
Pretty as a picture, but a terrible courtesan overall.
“Are you here to get me out?” she whispers now, conspiratorially. She even raises her hand to cover her mouth, although no one else joins them in the room.
He sighs and settles on the floor near her. “Pour me a drink, Fuu.”
She looks surprised, but she doesn’t fight him. She turns immediately and pours a drink, watching his face. He keeps his eyes firmly off her, her questioning stare, her painted face, her small hands resting in front of her lap.
Once he has his first shot down, she presses, “Well?”
Finally, Mugen rounds on her, sticking his nose into hers. “Well, how the hell did you manage to become a local courtesan? We’ve been separated for what, six months?”
Now the old girl flares a bit, and she knocks her forehead against his, none too gently.
“I was kidnapped, of course!” she hollers in his face. Her finger pokes at his chest. “D’you think I wanted this job?”
Mugen swerves away and runs his hand roughly over his face, grumbling, “Of course, of course, you stupid fucking–”
“But the question,” she cuts him off, “is how are you going to get me out?”
Now Mugen takes the bottle and pours himself another shot. It goes down like fire, and his head swims. He lays his eyes over her again, that wisp of hair, that long yellow sleeve. Her lips, a little too red in the dim light.
“Who says I’m gettin’ you out?” he murmurs, low in his throat.
Now Fuu puts both hands on her hips, rising up on her knees. “What do you mean, why are you here then?”
Mugen lets a slow grin spread over his lips; he sets the cup down on the tray and gestures around the room with one hand. “Why am I, a man, in a brothel, you ask?” He winks at her. The color begins to collect in Fuu’s face, and he reminds himself, pretty as a picture, but a terrible courtesan overall.
“You tell me, girlie. What does a man get from you in a brothel?”
//
“You can’t be serious.” Fuu’s voice is so small that he can barely hear her. Mugen leans in without realizing it himself; she looks away quickly.
“I-I’m not –”
“Not what? A courtesan?”
“Your type!” she blurts, both eyes shutting. She covers her face with her hands, refusing to look at him. She speaks into her palms. “Aren’t you the one who spent months telling me I’m not pretty? What are you even talking about now—”
Mugen reaches out, and with his incredible strength pries her hands away from her face. His eyes are steel as he says again, “Pour me a drink, Fuu.”
Her brows pull together, and her face is still red, but she complies. With shaking hands, Fuu takes the sake bottle and pours Mugen his third drink. He watches her, eyes razor sharp and unforgiving. This is what the men in town were talking about, he thinks; this awkwardness, these eyes avoiding him, those hands trembling. Has he finally become a customer, then?
As he sips his cup, he says, “I heard about you in town, Fuu. About a new beauty at the local place.” Her eyes come back to his face, wide, wondering. She really hadn’t heard the reports? Mugen’s mouth widens as he continues. He lets laughter enter his voice, cutting.
“The new beauty who’s also the worst lay in town.”
Fuu freezes, and the pink drains from her face, replaced by a pinched white. She leans physically away from him, as if to distance herself from his cruel comment. Then, as he should’ve guessed, tears bubble to her eyes. Her hand whips out and smacks the cup out of his hand, where it shatters on the floor. Now Fuu stands and glares down at him, tears still coursing down her cheeks.
“Ah, I see now,” she grinds out, “you came to see if the girl you knew, that ugly, gangly, skinny brat, was the famous ‘worst lay’ in all of town, did you?” Her voice is shaking, livid and green with anger. She starts to stomp past him to the door. “I’ve been humiliated enough here without you adding to it, Mugen. I’ll just see if I can find you another girl–”
Mugen is faster. He grabs her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Good grief,” he says, utterly relaxed, “don’t be that way to an old friend. Come, sit by me, tell me what’s happened.”
“Why should I?” Her voice is still angry, but steady now.
His eyes glint now, and his smile turns sharp. “Because I may be able to help you.”
//
“So. You were kidnapped.”
Mugen is sipping at another cup of sake; they’ve called for two more bottles at his insistence that this will be a long night. The shattered cup lies in pieces not far away, a warning at the direction this night could turn. Mugen refuses to eye it, to consider the possibility that he might offend Fuu beyond repair.
Near him, but decidedly not next to him, Fuu sits up ramrod straight.
“Yes,” she says primly. “I was kidnapped at the edge of town, which is how a lot of the girls here arrived.” Now she reaches out an takes a cup for herself, the first of the night. “This was about a month ago. They put me through some training for a week, to learn how to walk, talk, and pour sake, then they set me in the window.” Her tone is brisk, businesslike, as if this story had happened to someone else instead of her. But now she stops.
He arches his brow, glancing at her. “And then?”
Fuu refuses to look at him. She slams a second drink down her throat instead. “What do you mean, ‘and then’? Then I started to work!”
Mugen leans back now, stretches his body out across the floor. His cradles his head in his hand, and his knee points to the ceiling. He looks, Fuu thinks distantly, the way he used to in their travels, carefree under the open sky, the campfire roving across his face.
“Tell me about the sex,” he says nonchalantly, now reaching for a handful of peanuts on the tray. “What have you been doing with your customers?”
Fuu turns her face away, huffs, “I am not going to give you a bunch of sordid details, Mugen, I don’t care–”
“Don’t you want to have good sex?” he cuts in now. His tone is strange; half in mockery, but half in earnest.
Fuu erupts, her vulnerability and embarrassment pushed to the limit. “And how do you propose to help me, huh?” she nearly shouts. “I suppose you’ll laugh at me for hours first, or coach me in real time with my next customer, you pervert!, or–”
“Good grief,” he waves her off, “none of that. Just tell me what happened first.”
//
She’s had only one customer, it turns out. Mugen’s not surprised; so many men in town were complaining about her technique, but why would so many men pay for her if that was her reputation in the first place? Apparently one man must've had buyer's remorse and bad-mouthed her all over town. She hadn't made a dime since.
“It was that first night,” she explains quietly. Her hands are fisted in her yellow kimono, her eyes steady on the floor. “He was nice to me, if that helps. Said he knew he was my first customer. Said we'd take it slow and easy. But then he asked me to–” here she pauses again, glancing at Mugen, who is drinking sake and looking at the wall instead of her face.
At her pause, he says, “He asked you to go down on him?”
Fuu nods. Her cheeks fill up again with color, and she blinks rapidly, as if to clear her eyes. “I- I had heard of it, of course, but–” another pause, quicker this time, “I had never done it before.” She swallows and reaches out for another cup of sake. After sipping it for an incredibly long time, she finally says, “It was awkward. I didn’t know what I was doing. He pulled my hair really hard, and it hurt so much.” Her voice shrinks nearly to a whisper.
"Did he say anything?"
"What do you mean?"
He gestures vaguely. "During. Did he say anything to you?"
Fuu frowns and shakes her head. "No.. he was quiet the whole time."
Mugen blinks, slowly, his eyes still trained on the wall. “And after?”
“After." She pauses, and his eyes flick to her face finally. Her face is redder than it’s ever been, and he wonders if that’s how she looked that night. Like a summer fruit, full to bursting. The thought pinches him below the ribs, and he shoves it away.
“He said I was bad at it,” Fuu finishes lamely. Now her head hangs in shame. “He threw the money at me and left. Said he'd never come back again." There is real regret and rejection in her voice; it hurts Mugen in a way he can't name. Her hands flip palms up, like she's asking a question. "I can’t even– How-” she stops again. The thought is too embarrassing, too private, even to speak aloud.
“He should have talked you through it,” Mugen says after a long moment. He stands and stretches both arms above his head as though waking from a long nap. He rolls his neck as he speaks. He’s not looking at her. “If you did a bad job, it’s partly his fault. He should have been telling you what to do, if he liked it or didn’t like it.”
Fuu blinks at him, surprised at the firmness and gentleness of his tone. She was sure she was in for a world of taunting and berating. "Talked me through it?"
He nods. “Actually that goes for women too. Men and women should always talk about what’s happening, what they turns them on, what they want, what they don't.” Mugen stills, looking down at her on the floor. She’s still red, with fruitlike cheeks, her eyes wide and a bit glassy from the drink. More hair has escaped from her style, tickling the back of her neck. She looks like a dish served up, suddenly, and his next words come a little too easily.
“Sounds like someone just needs to teach you.”
Mugen drops to the floor in front of her. He leans toward Fuu on his hands and knees, slowly, like a panther about to leap. Another slow, dripping smile tugs at his lips. She watches, rapt, and it's incredibly gratifying. She almost doesn't need words.
“I’ll go first,” he declares.
//
His hands work their way through her obi, unraveling and loosening her kimono. The silk sags around her, and suddenly Fuu’s collarbones are glowing in the lamplight.
“Y-you can’t be serious,” she says again, reaching out to stop him. Her hands land on his shoulders, and instead of pushing him back, they somehow fist in his haori. He notices, and so does she.
Her hands paw at him a little, but they don't move away. “Mugen, I–”
“The lesson is: tell me what you want,” he says. He leans in close to her ear and his voice drops lower. “If you want me to stop, say so. If you want me to go faster, or slower, or harder, or lighter –” she shivers, and he licks his lips– “Just tell me.”
Now Mugen pauses, meets her eyes and waits. In his eyes is a challenge: tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to go, and I will. But there is more that I can do.
Her eyes hold his for an impossible second, and he sees the moment that it clicks for her: This is really happening.
She breathes, “Kiss me,” and he does, he does, swiftly, hard, like he’s been waiting to do it all night, every night, for a thousand nights and a thousand lifetimes. He wonders, suddenly, if he had already been thinking of kissing her during their travels, or if it was still so buried beneath that he couldn’t have named that desire at the time. But now Mugen feels a ripple across his skin, like he’s just surfaced after years underwater, like he’d been drowning and finally he’s come up for air. Fuu mewls against his lips, and she pulls him into her arms, and together they tumble against the mats with her hair spilling against his face.
Her hands find his shoulders, his biceps, his chest; they roam up to his neck and cup his cheeks with a tenderness that makes him wince. Despite his offer, Mugen hadn’t exactly been prepared for intimacy, but Fuu’s breathy moans and her fingernails caressing his scalp tear his plans asunder.
“Tell me what to do, brat,” he taunts, pressing his nose to her neck, to her shoulder. She sighs but doesn’t speak, and he noses against the swell of a breast, teasing and waiting. “What should I do?”
“Kiss me, kiss me again,” she says urgently.
He opens his mouth and kisses wetly across her chest, opening the kimono further. Fuu makes a sound that goes straight to his groin when he sucks a nipple into his mouth. Her hands claw into his hair, and her knees open up. Mugen settles in between, one hand on her breast, the other holding down a slim hip.
“What now?” he asks gruffly against her skin.
She reaches for his sleeve and yanks. “Take it off,” she grumbles. At that, Mugen actually chuckles, and he leans back to pull his red haori off and wriggle out of the old tunic underneath. Now, in the orange light, Mugen looks like a bronze figure with the eyes of an old god, and Fuu stares as if seeing him for the first time. She leans up, reaching out tentative hands, and touches old scars that litter across his chest and belly. He stills, watching her, as she traces sword wounds, bruises, an old bullet hole near his hip. Her eyes flicker up to his and she asks, “Can I?”
Wordlessly, Mugen nods, and Fuu leans in to press a soft kiss to his abdomen where the bullet hole remains. It’s not sexy, but it’s sincere, and it hurts somehow to see her treat his old pirate’s body like a temple idol. He grasps her shoulders with both hands as she peppers a few more old wounds with kisses, and finally he pushes her back to the floor.
He keeps his eyes on hers, never breaking contact, as he moves his hands and his lips down her body. Fuu shivers and waits, her mouth slightly open. Finally Mugen settles himself between her legs and rests his head against her thigh. His intense stare melts into a taunt, his fingers dance below her belly button.
“Now what should I kiss?”
//
“N-no-!” she cries, scandalized. Fuu tries to sit up and pull her hips away from him, but Mugen grips her with his forearms locked around her legs. His eyes stay on her flushed face as he pecks at her thigh once, twice, fast.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?’” he asks, as if genuinely confused. His fingers tickle the back of her knee, and Fuu jerks them closed. Mugen’s head makes an audible bonk between her knees.
“Oy oy, brat, what’s the idea,” he gripes. He squares his shoulders, working her thighs open again. “Open up, that’s better.”
Now her hands actually come up to cover her face again. “T-that’s not– men don’t–”
“Yes,” he cuts in now, “men absolutely do. In fact, men who don’t do this for their women aren’t worth a shit.” He watches the information sink in. “Your customer asked you to do this, remember? If you can do that for him, I can do this for you.”
Fuu blinks, trying to follow his logic. “B-but, you’re my customer tonight, I’m not your customer–”
Mugen’s smile widens yet again, Cheshire-like. “Girlie, there are definitely men who would pay just to do this to you.”
Her face is wild: red, puffy, her eyes so big and dark they could swallow him whole. Yet her expression is torn: there’s a curious light in her eyes, like she wonders what it’ll be like, how it’ll feel; but there’s also a lingering strain of embarrassment, of vulnerability there.
“We start out slow,” he says now, quietly. “If you really don’t like it, then you tell me what you want instead. Remember the lesson.”
Fuu swallows and nods. Mugen dips his head lower, keeping his eyes on her face, and with a soft, testing tongue, he licks her open. Immediately, Fuu sucks in a breath, as if startled awake. Her hips nudge forward a bit, toward his face, and he knows she’s not even aware of it. Now he closes his eyes and licks again, again, again, as she sighs and melts against him. He keeps his pace slow and gentle, never speeding up or slowing down. Instead, he talks.
“Fuck,” he says now, pressing his tongue to her clit. “You’re so wet.”
“You taste so good," he adds, pressing his tongue flat against her, "Can't believe you've been holding out on me.”
“Yeah, open up more, let me in–”
She makes that sound again, like she’s crumbling against him, and presses her sex even closer to his face. His nose bumps against her, and she cries out. Her hands wind their way into his hair, and even though she’s panting now, she still hasn’t given any further instructions.
“Mugen,” she cries out brokenly. “Please–”
“Please what? Use your words,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly against her pussy.
Fuu fists a hand in the silk under her ass and makes a frustrated whine. “I- I–” she pants, “I- I don’t know, but please–”
“Faster? Harder?” he presses. He was damn sure she was going to learn something from this tonight. “Do you want me to use my fingers?”
“Yes,” Fuu cries, “please, yes–”
“Mmm,” he agrees, his mouth speeding up on her. Now his hand joins his mouth, working her open and teasing a finger inside. Fuu yelps, but she grinds against his hand in a way that makes Mugen’s mouth actually water. He’s so hard against the mat floor that it hurts, but he’d be damned if she didn’t come on his face like this tonight. He swirls his tongue hard against her clit, and Fuu actually starts crying.
“M-Mugen, I, I need–”
“Tell me,” he says, his pace driving faster, harder. Two fingers in her now, his lips sucking on her clit. She’s so wet, he can feel it dripping down his chin, and he is the most powerful man in the world, to get his bitch like this, howling and crying his name without even using his dick. She sounds like a miracle, she feels like a rainstorm, and he’s sure he’ll never be able to fuck another woman again after this. Pretty but a terrible courtesan? Fuck them all – Fuu’s the only pussy he can have now, she’s just ruined his goddamn life.
“Please let me come,” she sobs against the back of her hand. Her back is arched off the floor, her hips pushing and pressing against his face in time with his lips and tongue, and she looks so beautiful and golden.
But he can’t help being a bastard one more time. He slows down, and she whimpers. He wants to hear it over and over and over again before they're through.
“Tell me like you own me,” he says now, pulling his wet, grinning lips off of her.
Fuu swings her head up, mussed up hair and all, and glares down at him, both eyes still wild with tears. “Mugen, you asshole, make me come this instant,” she commands, and he feels a shiver run down his spine. He nods and dips below again, sucking her clit into his mouth and fucking her on three fingers. Fuu rides wildly against his face and hand, crying out loud enough for the next room over to hear. Finally, he feels her body contort and shiver, hears his name spill in a sob from her lips, and her back lowers itself onto the mat floor.
//
She looks dazed, sprawled out against her open kimono on the floor. Her legs are akimbo, loose as jelly around his shoulders as Mugen makes his way back up to her mouth. He kisses her softly, and she sighs to taste herself on his lips. Now he pulls away and grips her chin gently with his hand.
“Now’s my turn, girlie,” he says quietly, but with an eagerness that surprises even him. “You’ve learned how to give orders, now you need to learn how to take them.”
A new life seems to come into Fuu’s eyes. She looks more ready than she did a few minutes before, and she watches with focus as he sits back and peels open his shorts. She crawls out of the discarded kimono – that’s an image he’ll never let die – and helps him pull the shorts down his legs. She blinks a couple times fast, as though surprised in some way that he was hard. Mugen watches her face for a moment.
“Kiss me first,” he says, unplanned– what is happening to him tonight?- but Fuu doesn’t bat an eyelash, she just climbs into his lap and laves a smooth, wet kiss over his lips. He almost holds her close and makes her ride him right there, but she moves away and settles between his legs, just as he had a moment ago.
Her ankles kick up in the air behind her, and he has an excellent view of her high, firm ass and long lean legs. But that doesn’t compare to the sound of her voice when she asks shyly, “Do you want me to touch you first? Or.. kiss you?”
Mugen forces his heartbeat to slow before he answers. “Use your hand first. Just stroke me up and down, slowly.”
She follows his instructions, watching his face as her soft hand comes around his length. He rewards her with a soft, "Good," but then Fuu does something that surprises him for a change: she brings her palm to her mouth and spits, then returns her hand to him. He groans out loud at the feeling of her warm, wet hand, and her eyes take on a victorious glint.
“Where’d you learn that, girlie?” he asks, his jaw working.
“The girls around here do give tips, you know,” she says lightly. Her feet swing behind her playfully. Then her eyes roll up again to his face, and her lips smile wickedly. Goddamn, who is she?
“Speaking of tips…”
Unbidden, Fuu leans in and places her hot, breathy mouth over the tip of his cock, and Mugen sucks in a breath. She just holds him there, humming, her tongue swirling against him. His hips jerk forward without warning, and he shoves himself further into her mouth. Fuu releases him with a cough, and she glares, “That wasn’t very polite, Mugen!”
He growls and clears his throat, then places a hand in her hair. “I didn’t give you the order to suck me yet, bitch, that’s your fault.” But before Fuu can respond, he says, “But now’s as good a time as any,” and he gives her a nudge with his hand in her hair – not hard enough to hurt her, but to piss her off a little bit.
Fuu’s mouth comes down again around him, deeper this time, and she sucks lightly at him, waiting.
“That’s– that’s good,” he murmurs, both eyes closed. He nudges his hips forward a bit more, feels her sink down on him. “Now move her hand up and down while you suck me. Yes, yes– like that. Fuck.”
Fuu closes her eyes too, memorizing the feel of him in her mouth, the smell of his skin. She feels dirtier but more powerful than she expected to feel. She likes the broken little grunts that come tumbling from his mouth, the “Yes, ah, like that,” and the “Goddamn.” She feels like she could go faster, or slower, or stop entirely, and it might actually break Mugen, and she hums in delight at the thought.
A hand comes back cautiously into her hair, and she knows he’s trying not to shove himself deeper and hurt her.
"Try to suck harder now," he directs. His voice sounds raw.
Her hand and mouth tightens.
"Ah- shit, girl," he says, almost startled. "You sure this is only the second time you've done this?"
Fuu feels immensely pleased, though her face is starting to feel a bit sore. Mugen starts to growl a bit lowly in the throat, and it tickles between her legs, driving her on and on. After a few moments, though, he nudges her off, and Fuu pulls back.
She takes a deep breath and looks into his eyes, summoning a bit of the energy he’d brought to her earlier. She gives him her best slow blink, hoping she appears seductive and not just sleepy. “What do you want now, Mugen?” Fuu asks breathily.
He looks spellbound, unraveled, even his hair looks a bit slack on his head. His chest is heaving, like he’s just been in a fight. At the sound of her question, he grins again. Pats his lap.
“Hop on, girlie.”
//
That one is new too, but Fuu isn’t going to let him catch her off guard. As he leans back against the floor, both hands behind his head – the absolute picture of ease – Fuu straddles his hips.
“I’m not doing a damn thing,” he says in warning now, that glint back in his eye, “so if you want to come, you gotta do it yourself.”
Now she looks a bit warily at him, casting her eyes over his entire frame like a river she is about to leap into. She waits a moment, but when Mugen really doesn’t move, she aligns her hips with his and slowly – so slowly that it makes gooseflesh rise over his skin – sinks down over him. They both let out a sigh, unbidden, at the contact, and Fuu trembles, waiting for the discomfort to pass. Mugen, noticing, reaches out and strokes her bare hip with a big warm hand.
“Easy does it, girlie,” he says lowly. “Not in a rush.”
She nods, blinking back tears, then makes a testing movement up and down, forward and back. The feeling of her grinding down against him causes Mugen’s blood to boil, his breath to hitch. His hips raise a bit off the floor, although he said he wouldn’t do anything this time. Fuu places both hands on his chest and grinds down again, again, then back and forth, moving her hips in experimental directions.
Quite without his permission, Mugen’s hand drifts over her belly, up her breasts, tweaking her nipples and pushing her hair out of the way. At each movement of his hand, she makes a little squeak of pleasure, and he finally sets the soles of his feet against the floor, prepared to disregard his warning and just thrust up against her wildly. Then she grinds against him in a way that makes a cry fly out of her, and he stops, waiting, watching. She does it again, testing, then again and again with intention. He feels her wetness spreading against his groin, down his thighs – fuck, has any bitch ever been this wet on him? His hand drifts down again over her hip, then the soft rise of her ass, and his finger dips in between her cheeks.
“M-Mugen!” she cries out, in shock, embarrassment. “D-don’t, n-not there–”
He doesn’t go any further, just watching her face change as his finger lingers there against her ass, as she grinds harder and harder against him. Her breasts bounce and tremble as she moves, and he licks the fingers on his other hand and plays with them.
"Good girl," he spurs her on. "Ride me, come on, get yourself off on me-"
She mumbles brokenly, “Oh,” and shuts both eyes, moving faster and faster. She feels like the tightest, wettest bitch in the world, and her body plays right into his very willing hands. He’s so hard it almost hurts, but she’s pressing and pressing, her pussy sucking him in and slamming around him and he thinks, not for the first time tonight, that there’s no other girl like this–
Suddenly, she snaps both eyes open, and with her brows pulled tight together, she asks, “Do you want me to come on you?”
The breath whooshes out of his lungs, and he gasps, hot and tense, “Yes, yes, come now, come hard against me baby, just like this, now–” He sits up, kisses her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, fingers her ass with one hand and strokes her clit with the other, his lips suck her nipple into his mouth, and he’s so full of her he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe or see or feel anything but her, and this is the way it’s always been, the way it always should have been. Mugen realizes that this is only the first of many nights and days and mornings and afternoons and sunsets to come, that he will always hold her like this and he will always hear her cry out against his skin and he will always know the exact feeling of her coming on his body, and it will never be a question or a maybe or a someday.
A moment later, she shudders in his arms, and he follows her, coming so hard that he sees spots behind his eyes. She presses against his collarbone, sobbing from the relief, and he wraps his arms tightly around her, grunting, babbling her name over and over, shaking with this new knowledge of him and her.
//
They wake about twenty minutes later, and she’s still sprawled across his chest on the floor. They hadn’t even made it to the futon across the the room. She leans up, pushes her fringe out of her face, and he sees how red, how puffy, how utterly fucked out she looks, and he can’t believe, again, that this is the same brat he traveled with for months last year, who argued with him over money and food, who threw her body over his the night Sara proclaimed him the most unloved man alive.
He takes a moment to search her face, and whatever he sees there settles him. Mugen stands up, finds his clothes and pulls them on. She sits, waiting, on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest.
“Was that a good enough lesson, girlie?” he asks, with his back turned toward her.
A sound, like a bird trapped in her throat. She just nods. He realizes that she's resigning herself, she's drawing away- she thinks he's going to get up and leave, another customer, good lay or not. Fuck all of that -
"Get your things," he says with a grin. "I've got more lessons for ya on the road."
She blinks, her brown eyes big and wide, pretty as a picture.