AN: My usual excuse for late updates: life truly stops for no one, even those of us who write fics for fun. I hope this is at least worth some of the wait.
The sky is still going off behind them; deep booms followed by bright pops of color staining the sidewalk and painting Mugens back along with it. Fuu jogs a little to keep up with his long strides, watching their shadows morph beneath the lights.
Soon the noises from the festival fade, the hum of voices along with it, until it's just the two of them walking by starlight on the empty road. She stares straight up at the sky as they walk, the stars winking down at them. The homes they pass are silent and dark and in a way she feels like they're traveling through time too.
She lets him lead her, his tanned fingers wrapped securely around her wrist. She thinks it's just like him to think he needs to use force to keep her there. Like she wouldn't entwine her fingers with his. Neither of them could ever escape the magnetism that drew them together again.
"I'm not going anywhere, you know."
He glances back at her once before muttering.
"Never can tell."
She doesn't blame him. They have every reason to believe this is the last night they'll ever have together. Only, she can't quite let herself fall into despair over it. Everything the fortune teller said tonight, everything she experienced in that tent, made her believe this isn't it for them. It can't be. In a strange way, it's comforting to know that the ground could literally open up between them, and it still wouldn't be enough to keep them apart.
She wants to ask him if he saw everything that she did. The grueling steps forward, inching toward an impossible destination. Cool nights with a whisper of autumn in the air, eyes that flicked open only to find his flitting away over a fire and feeling the burn all the same. The countless cruel days baking in the heat, waiting restlessly beneath sun-dappled trees, a thousand forever-held breaths waiting to watch his chest rise and fall just once more, please just one more time, and then one more after that–and then the painful exhalation when it did. Does he know that the version of her suspended in time who dreamed of his arms around her as she died also exists now? That every version of her life can end in pain and loss and she'll still want it because his steps follow hers?
She doesn't know how to put it into words, but she can tell he's not in the mood to talk anyway. Maybe they're beyond words now.
The second they're through the door he wastes no time pulling her to him. His kisses are sporadic, one on her lips, her cheeks, as if he can't make up his mind where he wants to settle. She's just as impatient, tugging him down to her, smiling through clumsy kisses that miss her lips but waste no time finding new spots to land. His hands go to her waist, trying to slide in for an opening.
"What happened to taking it slow?" She teases breathlessly as he wriggles his hands into her obi, struggling to pull it loose.
"Told ya'…makin' up…for lost…time—damn, did that bitch sew you in this thing or what?"
She laughs, smacking his hands away to help him unravel the long sash, maintaining steady eye contact with him as she does, watching his grow even darker as she lets the fabric fall.
He kisses her backward, lips nearly bruising against hers as they slide down onto the neat futons laid out, pulling her robe open until a long line of bare skin is revealed. The anticipation ties her stomach in knots as his mouth trails from hers to her neck, little puffs of air causing her to shiver.
All at once, he goes from uncontrollably eager, to unbearably slow. As soon as he touches her exposed skin, it's light—too light. There's not nearly enough pressure to quell the fire lit beneath her skin; it only drives it higher.
Something dark is simmering within him, just beneath the surface, hot like anger but without the sting, but just as scorching as he pulls her beneath him. He pulls back the robe, helping her shrug out of it so that she's completely exposed. She shivers beneath him, legs clamping shut for modesty's sake as he lingers for a long moment, hungry eyes moving from her face down her body, drinking in the sight of her.
"I-I kinda' need you to hurry."
The corner of his mouth lifts in the barest smile, his dark eyes follow the path of his own fingers as they trail down her body, skimming the surface with a barely-there touch, eliciting a delicate shudder.
"Yeah? How come?"
"I just think—"
Her words twist as his hand slides past her stomach and between her squirming legs. The image of him stroking the petal of a sunflower earlier enters her mind. For such a lethal guy, he has a way of using every point of contact with purpose. Each incendiary touch leaves her weak. She mumbles through the rest of her words.
"- should hurry."
"We got all night." He murmurs, one finger dipping in deeper, tracing gently along. "I ain't wasting a fuckin' second."
She bucks her hips against him, spreading her legs to allow him room, but he pulls back, maintaining the same maddening softness he now seems infinitely capable of. She huffs, glaring up at him. She recalls this from the first time he touched her. He likes to make her crazy.
"Please–"
"That's right. Beg for it."
So much for making up for lost time; now he seems hell-bent on making her suffer for it.
She's so overly sensitive that when he leans down, teeth barely grazing a nipple she jumps, a whine clawing up her throat. His tongue swirls around her, teasing the peaks until she's panting. His other hand cups her, kneading her chest.
"Mugen, please—please—"
He knows what she needs, he knows and he's still holding it all back from her. She whines, trying to twist and gyrate in a way that will let her have an ounce of friction. She only needs a little—just something to soothe the unbearable ache he's stoked inside of her. He pulls her closer and closer to the edge before easing back. She nearly cries with frustration. Her entire body teems with electricity. The air is thick with her panting breaths. He kisses her deeply, tongue probing into her mouth before trailing wetly down her chest again, occasionally pausing to nip at her skin, leaving rosy marks that sting pleasantly.
She arches against him, fingers tugging at his shirt. He pauses to pull it over his head and tosses it aside. He's so warm against her, covering her. Her hands pause to roam across his chest, his back, across scars and muscles that tense at her touch lost in a dizzying desire for more.
She should be long past feeling embarrassment. He wouldn't hurt her– but he would tease her. She hesitates before letting him ease her trembling legs open so that he can lower his head between them. His close inspection is both mortifying and erotic. She thinks of a dozen worries that send her heart hammering and blood rushing to her face: does she look weird, does he like it? She's not completely ignorant; she has an idea of what he's planning to do next. His rough thumbs rub against her, spreading her apart. It's too much and not enough. She squirms, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the precipitous moment his warm breath is replaced by his tongue–
"Sit on my face."
Her writhing ceases at once and she balks at him over the plane of her stomach, unsure if she heard that correctly.
"What?!"
He grins at her, shaking back his wild hair, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.
"Ya' heard me."
"N-no way! That's so weird!"
He lifts her thighs, rubbing the sensitive skin before his eyes drift back down between them, tongue moistening his lips. She shivers again.
"Come on, I wanna make you come with my mouth."
God help her, she could fall apart right that second.
"P-Please stop talking!"
"I know one way you can shut me up."
Damn him for making her crazy with that stupid, cocky little smirk on his stupid face. It's both annoying and sexy because he knows he's winding her up. He likes that she's been reduced to a pitiful, wet mess of want and need so strong that it hurts.
There's too much logical thinking left in her; what if she smothers him? That's all she needs. She'll have to call Jin for help and explain that Mugen passed out because–She shudders. No, there's no way she can do it. She gives another stubborn shake of her head.
He rolls his eyes, grumbling to himself.
"Fine. I'm only giving' in 'cause I'm impatient and you're so damn wet."
He grips her thighs suddenly, pulling her flush against his mouth. She lets out a yelp of surprise that quickly becomes a moan. His tongue settles at the slick seam, pressing wetly, ruthlessly against the bundle of nerves that's been dying for contact. For a few moments, she's too shocked to make another sound, simply staring down slack-jawed at his dark eyes meeting hers. He's practically glowing with self-satisfaction at her response.
His hands wander up, tracing over her stomach, holding her flat against the mattress because her hips have started to move uncontrollably against him. She hears his muffled chuckle against her. Her fingers curl into his hair, tugging against him, panting out that he needs to shut up. Some other time she'll look back in mortification at how fast she goes from embarrassed to threatening him with physical harm if he dares stop.
Each tortuous lap of his tongue makes her feel like her body is strung tight like a bow, so close to snapping. Along with the flicking movement of his tongue, his fingers slip inside of her, stretching her carefully. The sensation is overwhelming and she thinks about the moment he'll really be inside of her, filling her—suddenly all the exquisite tension snaps and she falls apart against his tongue, chanting his name over and over.
He smiles, easing her through the waves wracking her body several seconds longer, even after he's pulled away, wiping his mouth, watching her tremble and cry. He'll never get enough of the sight of her face pink and flushed, as she sits up to stare at him like he's just committed a crime. It's better than any other time they've fooled around. No distractions. No need to stay quiet. Not that he thinks she could manage that now. She's loud when she comes and he revels in the sound of it. Listening to her cry out his name has him hard and ready to pin her down. If he's lucky, everyone within a quarter-mile radius will have heard her. They'll hear her again soon. She might not like the idea, but from experience, if he riles her up enough she'll be too far gone to care.
He lowers his head, deciding to torture another one out of her, but she has other plans.
She shoves him away and he falls back against the futon with a grunt. For a seemingly shy virgin, she's eager to get his shorts off, tearing at the buttons like she has a personal vendetta against them. He wants to crack a joke about her being so aggressive, but he's too turned on to even think about ruining her resolve. He sits up, helping her get them off until he's literally sprung out of his boxers and into her hands. Her eyes go wide.
"Oh! You really are big!" she exclaims and then closes her eyes in instant regret, her face burning red.
It's such a genuine reaction that he's torn between hysterical laughter and fierce pride. He'll lock away that phrase for the rest of his life. You're never livin' that one down. She gives him a look that says if he wants her to keep going, he'll keep his fucking mouth shut so, wisely, he does.
She touches him gently, hesitantly, wrapping her fingers around him. His breath hitches in his throat at her slow exploration. He's never been with a woman who doesn't immediately know what to do or how to touch him. He's never even been asked before, they just do it, but he's not about to stop her. There's something especially enticing about him being the first—and only—man she's touched. That she'll only ever know how to please him.
Her eyes keep flicking up to his, looking unsure. Her soft hands wrapping around him are too light like she's worried he'll break or something. He sits back, huffing with impatience.
"Harder," he says gruffly.
She purses her lips.
"Won't that hurt?"
"Nah, I like it rough," he says grinning, enjoying the way more color floods her cheeks, spreading down to the rosy skin of her chest.
She wraps her hand around him, harder now, the pressure firm. She gives a few more tentative strokes before she does something he does not expect; she bends down and licks a hot, wet stripe from base to tip.
"Shit." He hisses.
"W-was that not okay?" she asks worriedly, more anxious questions spilling out in a rush: "Should I have done that later? Should I have asked first? Do you want me to stop?"
He could cry at the questions. It's not only okay, it's torture. The kind only she's capable of dealing him. No thumbnails and corkscrews needed; just her soft touches, too much care in her eyes.
"Nah it's good. Keep—keep doin' it."
He holds off tacking on the pathetic please at end of that sentence because he can't risk her knowing how goddamn desperate he is.
She does it again, lips wrapping around him with another soft wet tug. He slams his head back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. She goes from licking to kissing to taking him farther into her mouth with soft, careful suction. It's all experimental, a learning thing for her but for him, well, he thinks maybe he's getting a taste of what he gave to her.
Some of her hair falls into her face and he reaches to tuck it behind her ear so he can watch her better. If he believed in heaven this would be it. She pulls back a moment, her lips just barely grazing him.
"Does it feel good, Mugen?"
Her tongue flicks innocently along the tip and her little doe-eyed expression nearly does him in right there. He fights the roar of black desire to bend her over and teach her a lesson. Fuckin' tease.
No, she's placed him squarely in hell.
He looks away from her, his mind frantically trying to think of something else. He tries to do math, imagines the old hag she works for giving four-eyes a lap dance— anything to keep this lasting longer. Even with her obvious inexperience, he's getting closer and this isn't how he wants to lose it. Not yet. He wants to sink inside of her. Feel the slick velvet of her around him. Watch her struggle to fit all of him inside.
She's relishing the taste and feel of him in her mouth, watching his breath catch, his frustrated groans, how he tenses. It's the type of power she didn't know she could wield over him. Wicked and sweet. She feels the same ache as before quickly creeping back. She reaches down, feeling the slick wetness between her legs, and moans around him.
"Are you touching yourself?"
She stops and glances up at his black eyes watching her and nods.
In one swift move, he maneuvers them so that he's back on top of her. She's rendered breathless by the movement and seriousness of his expression.
"Oh, good because my jaw is actually killing me."
"Yeah, I heard. Biggest you've ever seen. Gonna tell all your friends."
"I definitely didn't say that."
He positions himself between her legs, the intensity of his expression almost alarming. So this is where they're at now. No more teasing; he's singular in his mission, pressing into her inch by inch. She squints past him at the ceiling, wincing, trying to parse the sensations; beneath the stretching bordering on discomfort is the same faintly hungry sensation of need. It's a relief that it isn't as painful as she expected. She focuses back on him above her, breathing heavily, muscles taut and strained.
He groans in relief when he's fully inside of her. She's so hot and tight around him, it's all he can do to keep himself from fucking her mindlessly. He stops like the fucking gentleman he is and waits for her to tell him to move. His eyes can't help but dart down from her face to where he presses inside of her. He rubs a thumb over the slick juncture, pausing to gauge her reaction. Her glassy eyes look up at him in wonder, the tiny movement of her hips canting upward causing him to groan.
She does it again, watching him grit his teeth trying to keep still for her. He's trying to be sweet, she doesn't want sweet. She wants him to go harder, deeper, to take her however he wants, so that they can lose themselves to each other.
She moves again, wrapping her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. He hisses breath between his teeth, pulling almost completely out. He drives in again, this time harder and she gasps.
"That's my girl," he grits out with another aggressive thrust. "knew you could take it."
She nods, always eager to show him how good she can be for him.
"I can–I can–please don't stop."
He rocks against her, the heavy pressure of him above her, inside of her, the pleasure of all of it building upon itself, winding higher and higher. She reaches for him, legs wrapping tightly around him as he sinks into her over and over. Their lips meet, his tongue entwining with hers, catching every jolted gasp and moan that escapes her mouth. They're never close enough, never hard enough, never fast enough. She rakes her nails down his back, trying to keep hold and anchor herself to him.
This close she can hear his ragged breathing along with the whisper of her name, just barely under his breath. The tone of it so unexpectedly soft, reverent. She cries out when her climax takes her unexpectedly in a euphoric rush. Her fingers dig into his skin, savoring every last bit of pleasure still wringing itself from her body.
The staccato of his thrusting stutters out and his grip on her becomes almost painful, lost in the feeling of her squeezing around him, her greedy little body pulling him deeper, begging him to lose control. His vision nearly whites out when he comes, groaning into her neck. He stills, before pulling out carefully and collapsing beside her.
They lay there for a few minutes until their panting breaths begin to even out. She glances at him, his lids fluttering closed, sweaty chest glistening in the weak blue night light filtering in from the window. He reaches for her and she expects him to maybe take her into a romantic embrace before they sleep, but instead, he moves so that she's on top of him, straddling his lap.
"A-Again?" she gasps, acutely aware of his erection pressing into her.
He nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"I wanna watch you fuck."
Her cheeks redden at this, desire quickly pooling between her legs, silencing her complaints of being too tired. It's amazing to her how quickly she's recovered, nearly as desperately as if they'd just started.
He watches her hover above him, awkwardly taking him in hand again positioning between her legs. He swells harder watching her struggling to fit him in, biting her lip in concentration and then sinking down onto him with a sigh.
With her palm against his chest, she rolls her hips forward and back in a slow rhythm. Her mouth falls open at the delicious feeling she was robbed of once before, back when every moment was borrowed. Now they have all night. So full. So addictive. She'll never want anything else but this. She'll always want more. Always ready for seconds and thirds.
She's so close, she needs to slow down, to savor it–
"Don't hold back on me." he growls, "Keep movin'."
She leans against him fully, angling to allow herself to grind against him in a way that catches every breath in her throat, only a high-pitched whine leaves her lips. He eggs her on–Good girl, keep ridin' me. Touch yourself for me–letting her use him to reach her peak. Her hands rise up her own body, squeezing her chest, biting her kiss-bruised lips, eyes half-lidded with desire for him. Be greedy. He thinks. Cause I am too. He doesn't move a muscle–waiting for the covetous moment she gives in.
Another broken moan is torn from her throat as she comes, shuddering and falling against his chest. Without allowing her even one spare moment to breathe, he flips her over onto her stomach, plunging into her from behind.
She cries out in surprise.
"Always so wet for me, fuck–" his dark murmur in her ear almost seems to be coming from inside of her, a black pit where all of her fantasies live, "m' not done with you yet."
Just moments earlier she thought there was no possible way for her spent body to feel anything other than tired, but the sharp bite of desire sinks its teeth into her once more, emerging from beneath foggy layers of exhaustion with a vengeance. He takes her roughly, pulling her hips against him. Her hands grip the sheets weakly, only able to rise partly to her knees. His hand tangles into her ponytail, pulling her flat against him.
"Does it feel good, Fuu?"
Her teasing words from earlier spat back at her. It does feel good, so good that she has no retort, only able to give a helpless glance over her shoulder at him as he thrusts relentlessly inside of her. This is how she wanted him; brutal and ruthless with need for her—with desire too dangerous to try and control.
She's simply grateful that she doesn't have to hold herself upright for him. He's taken all control. There's nothing left inside to give, but he always wants more from her. She always wants to give him more.
Mindless with desire, he thrusts into her, frenzied and possessive. She comes one last time with a sob and he follows soon after, holding her still as she pulses, pulling everything from him.
The next few moments are soft, fuzzy around the edges. She smiles, her eyes closed as she gives into the comforting sensation of him easing her down to the futon, the heavy comforter settling over her body.
She's asleep before her head even touches the pillow.
Her eyes crack open, squinting in the bright room. She's not home, but she's in a place that's nice like one. A home she could get used to. The window is cracked open, letting in a balmy breeze thick with rustling trees, chirping birds, the distant sounds of conversation. She's aware of several things at once:
One: she feels like she's been hit by a bus. A soft, nice bus, but a bus nonetheless.
She stretches, feeling her joints ache. Like her old waitressing shifts. Except she definitely never left those shifts feeling aches in the places she feels now.
Two: she's hot.
With some difficulty, she shoves the heavy comforter off of her, sending a pleasant puff of air across her heated skin. The breeze from outside ruffles her hair and she smiles to herself.
"That's more like it."
Three: she's not alone.
She scrambles for the covers, pulling them back over herself, glancing over her shoulder where Mugen lies watching her, a cocky half-smile on his face. He's still shirtless, appraising eyes sweeping over her body.
"You got nothin' to hide now."
"That doesn't mean I need to be naked all the time," she says mildly.
"Girly, I saw parts of you last night even you haven't even seen."
Memories of the night before flood her face with another bright blush. Oh, right. That explains the sore muscles and why her voice is slightly hoarse. All the moaning.
Keeping the sheet pulled firmly around her, she scoots over to him, placing a light, placating kiss on his lips. He returns it at once, still trying to pull the sheet from her grasp. She pulls back, slapping his hands away and sighing in exasperation. He frowns.
"That's all I get?"
She fights back a smile at the glum expression on his face. He's really pouting?
"I think we should probably talk first." she says gently, and then adds with a rueful smile, "Plus, I am way too sore to do anything like that right now."
His voice drops low, giving her a smirk, "But ya' know how nice I can be—"
She paws around the ground for something to put on because if she's naked there's no way he'll pay attention to her. They have too much to discuss for him to be getting distracted. She tears the sheet off and quickly pulls his red shirt over her head, just catching a glimpse of him leering at her briefly exposed skin.
"Better. Now, um, first things first we need—"
"You on birth control?"
She blinks at him, taken aback.
"Oh, yeah, I am."
He sighs in relief.
"Good. Been worried about that all night."
"Right, so–wait a second!" she snaps incredulously, "You were worried about it, but you were still about to do it again? What if I wasn't?"
He shrugs, "Woulda' figured something out. Now that I know you are, we can do this thing guilt-free."
He crawls over to her, pressing her back into the rumpled futon. She stares up at him, her expression unusually stern.
"Mugen."
"Just sayin' we don't need to talk about whatever it is you—"
"We need to go back."
He stops.
He knew it was coming. He sits back. Of course, the best day of his life would need to be followed by what he assumes will be one of the worst. When he was a kid, he thought as long as he didn't open the door, he could play pretend a little while longer. He woke that morning the happiest he'd ever been in any life, with the painful knowledge of just how easily it could all be torn from his grasp. When he saw her apologetic expression, he knew it would be her. She's the only person he'd let rob him of peace.
Sensing his hesitation, she takes his hands in hers. Hers are so small, breakable, but strong as she squeezes him.
"We can't stay here and we can't run forever, you know that."
Yes, he knows that too. He knows what it means to be on the run. The fortune teller the night before didn't just show him his life ending; she showed him the neverending pain of never being able to sleep without one eye open. Always watching over his shoulder for the next threat. Never being able to enjoy much for long. Four-Eyes knew it too; that's why he sent his woman off to be somewhere safe. Because he's smart. Always so damn honorable. Not like he didn't try to be smart too. If Fuu hadn't been so goddamn impulsive she would have been on that train too.
And he would have missed out on the best night of his entire existence.
An ancient weariness takes hold of him, one that has been plaguing him for years. Jin will do the right thing, which means Mugen will have to as well because that's what Fuu wants. Her big eyes are spelling it out for him. He has it in him to kill for her, to steal, to lie, but he doesn't have it in him to go against what she wants right now. What she's owed.
There are no small consequences waiting for them back in the city. Three dead men and a smoldering hostess club. Not to mention both police and jaded gang members demanding answers. Someone else will slither from the dark to seize Umanosuke's spot and the cycle will begin anew. They left a mess behind and as much as he wants to be ten years old playing pretend again, those days are gone. They have been for a while.
"You're right. No more runnin'."
She smiles at him, bright and sweet, and he can't understand how she can look so damn cheerful about the end of their time together. Does she not understand what returning means? What's waiting for them?
"It's going to be okay," she says soothingly. "I know it."
"Oh yeah? How do you know?" he mutters, too much of a cynic to hide the sneer in his voice.
She sighs again and stands up, squinting outside at the bright sky, another warm breeze ruffling her hair.
"I just do."
He scoffs. She contains all the naïve optimism of a kid. But she's not a kid, she's a bright spot of light through the water, something to swim toward. If she were eclipsed from his life, he'd have no reason to reason to keep going. It would be easy to sink back into the life he had before and succumb to pessimism. Just as it would be easy to shoot down that hopeful smile with a cold dose of reality.
But he's never been one to just give up. For once, he lets himself believe it will all be okay like she says.
"Fine." he says, "we'll go."
She bends to press a soft kiss against his head.
"Good. Now go shower. You stink."
AN: I'll be taking my time on the next, and final, chapter. Partly because it'll tie up the loose ends and partly because it'll come with a small, cheesy epilogue.