Title: Enemies of the Heart (working title)

Author: Neldluva

Fandom: Samurai Champloo

Rating: R

Pairing: Jin/Mugen

Warnings: yaoi, naughty language, liberties taken with the show's timeline, PWP-ish, ANGST

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to those who created Samurai Champloo ... and made it so delightfully slashy.

Summary: Jin speaks. First person.

Mugen's body is entrancing to me, so much that I sometimes don't know what to do with myself around him. Of course, I could never tell him so. The little bastard would probably use it against me and fight naked, which might be slightly distracting.

He is completely unlike the partners I took in the past. Admittedly, I have not taken many, but before I always found myself attracted to men like Yukimaru. That one was sweet and quiet and adoring, and while he was not my match when it came to sparring, he was intelligent and provided good conversation. Love? No, I had never loved him. I had cared for him, true; he was like a little brother to me, that much I could claim. But I hadn't loved him. It still hurt when I killed him, though.

So Mugen is a completely new experience for me. He is not kind or gentle or any of the things that Yuki had been. He is rough and rude and often very disgusting, and if I hadn't forced him into the bath that night, I do not doubt that he would be stinking now. He is a barbarian in all manners of his life, and yet I am attracted to him as I have never been attracted to anyone before.

I believe the reason for this is in his eyes. He is constantly scowling, rarely smiling – we are alike when it comes to that. But there is such intensity in his gaze that he captures me as a snake may hypnotize its prey. In his eyes I see such a turmoil of anger and hate and passion and happiness, and I want a piece of those hot, bright emotions for myself. It feels as though there is only ice inside me, and I need Mugen to melt some of that away.

Perhaps that is what draws me to him. Mugen lives with every ounce of his being; indeed, he told me once that he wonders every day if he is going to die. What freedom that gives him, what vitality! He is pure life and energy, while I … as I told Yukimaru before I tumbled into the waterfall, I might as well be dead. This is not morbidity, I am merely stating a fact. After what happened at the dojo, after I left, I have hardly done anything worth calling life. Mugen and Fuu both helped me realize this. They are both so alive, and I like to believe it rubs off on me.

I don't think Mugen realizes how beautiful he can be. He is always so brash and crude and repulsive, almost as though he is afraid of being seen as a nice person. He lets that mask slip sometimes around me, though, and I can see the smile in his clear grey eyes and the elegant, purposeful grace of every movement he makes. His fighting style may be undisciplined, but he shows the control of one trained for years in a dojo, and only when he thinks no one is watching.

Not surprisingly, I find he is at his most beautiful when I fuck him. I do not have the presence of mind to watch him when he decides to fuck me, but when I am allowed to play the seme part, I make a note of keeping my eyes open. He is utterly breathtaking. His lovely tawny skin flushes all over and he arches his back like he wants to snap himself in half and he tilts his head back to bare his neck … it is usually by this point that I can take no more. Sometimes he will cum without any outward help from me, but always he gathers me close afterwards and wraps those long, bony limbs around me. He holds me like he's drowning and kisses my face and gets his fingers all tangled up in my hair. We usually wake up like that in the morning, and he'll whine at me until I get us unstuck, but there is always a smile on his face for the rest of the day.

Then again, getting fucked by Mugen is always an … interesting experience. I would have expected him to be as rough and crude in this aspect as he is in most other areas of his life, but I found myself quite mistaken. True, he dominates in every aspect as though he is trying to see how far down my throat his tongue will reach, how much of the pinching and tormenting I can stand before I kick him away, but he isn't malicious or inconsiderate. His domination is rather playful, and he always ensures that I am enjoying myself. I lose myself in those kisses and have no choice but to surrender when he enters me, he overwhelms me so.

Still, I do remember some distress when he first discovered the triggers that would make me melt. I was not, nor will I ever will be, willing to share on that aspect of my life. It brought me back to my early years in the dojo, when that older boy whose name I will never forget taught me submission before I could learn to say "no." I do not mean to say that Ichiro was cruel, for he was in fact a good friend and mentor. He merely took his role as nenkei very seriously, and made sure that I was firmly his nentei in every submissive sense of the term. I do think he found some pleasure in dominating a member of the Takeda clan, and I was young and weak enough then that I did not oppose him. It was only when I surpassed him in both height and skill that he became disinterested, and after that he had graduated from the dojo, most likely to become a bodyguard of some rich lady. I do not wonder where he was. He did not leave me with fond memories and to have Mugen bring them back was not something I appreciated.

Fortunately, Mugen is able to make me forget completely about Ichiro-aniue once he actually started fucking me. I don't think I had noticed until that point what a bad lover Ichiro-aniue had been. I had been a forced uke back then, but with Mugen, I am perfectly willing to play the submissive role.

I have spent many hours in meditation dedicated to questioning why a man like me, a man from an aristocratic family, a samurai who has studied for most of his life at a prestigious dojo, would possibly want to associate himself with a pirate brat like Mugen. Mugen's list of faults was, as far as I could tell, endless, and he didn't seem to want to stop with his current behavior any time soon. He had been to prison once, as evidenced by the bands on his wrists and ankles, and he would likely go there again. If I didn't kill him, I knew there were plenty of people vying for that chance. Perhaps that was why I couldn't let him go … I couldn't stand the thought of someone else taking my rightful place, both when it came to Mugen's life and to his body. He was mine in those regards.

One day after we had finished fucking, I took one of his wrists in my hands. I had told him my story, and I figured the least he could do would be for him to tell me his. He cracked open one eye and gave me his customary scowl, but he didn't brush me off. I ran my fingers over the smooth blue lines and traced up to his bony hand. Here the skin was rough with callous, and his knuckles were large enough that I wondered how many times he had had his fingers dislocated.

"You went to prison." He grunted in affirmation. "This is a Japanese custom. How did it happen?"

"Killed a guy," he muttered. "He must've been important or some shit, 'cause they caught me right away and tossed me in the clink. I'd just gotten to Japan, too, and they tossed me right back on the islands."

"Ryukyu?" Another grunt. "How old were you?"

"Eh." He rolled over onto his back, and I propped myself up on my elbow. "Twelve, maybe. I've never bothered to keep track. I got out, though – escaped. I took up with Mukuro and his gang. Boy, that was a mistake!" He flashed a grin at me, and I had to look away. I loved his face when he smiled.

"What about these?" I asked, reaching out to touch the small blue sphere hanging from his ear. "I've never seen their like before."

"I think they're European," he said, reaching up to flick at the earring in his other ear. "I stole 'em before I knew they were meant for women. They're pretty though, huh? I snitched 'em because they were so shiny."

"They do suit you," I agreed. I brought my hand in front of his face and stroked his scarred eyebrow with my thumb.

"Bar fight," he explained before I could ask. "Some asshole thought I was getting too friendly with his girl. Motherfucker pulled a knife on me. I was lucky I didn't lose the eye." He reached over and removed my hair from the tie that held it back and ran his fingers through it.

I sighed happily and pulled him closer. I loved it when he got his fingers through my hair.

"Well, if you're finished grilling me, I'd like to go to sleep." I felt him smile against my cheek. "You got me all worn out."

"Hmm," I agreed, feeling sleep steal over me.

There are several parts of my life that I will always keep from Mugen, no matter how close we get. I think he simply would not understand most of what I have experienced. We have lived lives worlds apart from each other. I can not expect him to understand.

I had told him about what happened the night I left the dojo, but I neglected to tell him how it felt to kill the man who had, for all intents and purposes, become my father. Master Enshirou took me in after my parents' death, he clothed me and sheltered me and taught me all he knew. I had even had a small infatuation for him for several years, though neither of us acted on it. All I had ever wanted, back in those days, was to see a smile of approval on his face. That made his betrayal all the more painful for me to bear. In killing him, I felt as though I had killed a part of myself, and that part still ached like an amputated limb, like a constant ghost-like twinge of something that had once been.

I cannot tell him about my past partners. Ichiro-nii does not deserve a retelling. His part in my life is the distant past, and I refuse to dwell upon him. Mugen knows about my relationship with Yukimaru, but not the details. That happy part of my life is for me alone, and it still hurt to speak of his death and the part I had played. I hadn't planned to kill him; I wanted us both to escape with our lives. I wanted him to forget me. He wouldn't, though. He had always been so stubborn. My passionate little brother.

I cannot tell him of what I had with Shino. Shino was the first woman I had ever truly made love to, and I think I really did love her. She made me feel important and needed, while at the same time offering up so many lessons to teach me. But she must spend three years inside that divorce sanctuary, and besides, what sort of a life could a ronin give her? Certainly not the sort of life she deserves. Better that we have parted ways. Mugen would not understand such love. I believe that, were he in my situation, he would go back to Shino, uncaring of propriety or anything beyond his passion. I cannot do that. So I keep this story to myself.

I cannot speak of my sister, beyond passing comments. I doubt Mugen could understand what it is to have family and to love them. She had been my only family for so long that it no longer matters that I have an older brother, or that I once had parents. She had been very young when our parents died, two years of age at most, and I was glad sometimes that she no longer remembered them. They made concessions for her at the dojo because we would both have raised a fuss if they had tried to separate us, and they had even allowed her to learn some of the easier exercises that the youngest boys went through. Beyond that, it had been my prerogative to teach her – in secret, of course. If Master Enshirou had found out how much of his teaching I had taught to my sister, he probably would have expelled me from the dojo, top student and adopted son or no.

She was one of the reasons why I had left so suddenly. I did not wish my shame and disgrace to reflect back on her. She was young and innocent, and I knew our brother wished to make a good marriage for her. She deserved that.

No, there are some aspects of my life that Mugen will never understand. He is smarter than he looks, considering he looks like a half-starved balding monkey half of the time, and very willing to listen to most of what I say. But there are some secrets that I must keep. The secret closest to my heart, though, is that I no longer think I can kill him. Not for lack of skill, of course. Our blades are very evenly matched, but I am confident that my discipline and training would allow me to win. It is rather that I have come to care too much for him. Such a thing frightens me. The people I care for have a tendency of dying, and often by my sword. I don't know if I can subject Mugen to that fate.

Mugen likes to keep me company while I meditate.

He isn't subtle or tactful about it. The first time it happened, I had been deep in meditation when, all of a sudden, he flung himself across my lap. I have to admit, I was so startled that I didn't know what to do. No one had ever intruded on my meditations in such a way!

He rolled over and wriggled for a few minutes, finally settling on his back and staring up at me. My thighs were against his shoulders and lower back. I was still trying to decide whether or not I wanted to get angry at him.

"Hey, four-eyes," he said, in that voice that was like wood smoke and sugar. "Nice day for a nap, huh?"

"I wasn't napping," I said shortly. He had flustered me, and I didn't like it.

"What were you doing, then? Sure looked like napping to me."

"I was meditating." Damn, he had me all tense. Meditation might be nearly impossible after such an interruption.

"Eh. I'm gonna stay here, okay?" Before I could protest, though, he had fallen asleep, and he looked so uncommonly peaceful that I didn't have the heart to wake him.

It turned out I was correct – meditation was impossible after Mugen joined me. He had startled me, and even asleep he provided too much of a distraction for me to find my find my focus.

I became used to this routine after it continued for several days. I would settle down to meditate, and Mugen would promptly join me. He once tried to meditate himself, but he was too fidgety, and he gave up after only a short time. He tried all sorts of positions for his napping, but his favorite seemed to be the first, with his head dangling over my knee.

He always looked so peaceful and childlike, sprawled across me like that. Every hint of annoying balding monkey faded from his expression, and he even stopped looking so fierce and angry, and all that was left was just Mugen, no show or bravado. It was so easy for me to forget just how young he was. He had lived so much and fought through so much, I am tricked sometimes into thinking he is older than I am. My life seems so small compared to his. Despite the fact that I am a ronin, masterless, I have lived a relatively easy life. Mugen has had to fight tooth and nail for every small scrap that he has gotten, and it shows in his scars and his eyes. They are such heavy eyes, full eyes, so full of life and passion and anger that I fear that his gaze will burn me up inside.

Vocabulary (thanks, Wikipedia!):

Seme: a general term for a partner in a relationship who is or is intimated to be predominantly butch, a top, and/or a dominant. The equivalent for bottom is uke.

Nenkei: the older, dominant partner in a yaoi dojo relationship

Nentei: the younger, submissive partner in a yaoi dojo relationship

Ronin: a masterless samurai during the feudal period of Japan that lasted from 1185 to 1868. A samurai became masterless from the ruin or fall of his master, or after the loss of his master's favor or privilege.