Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Thing ❯ Beautiful Thing ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Jady 
Chapter 1.
(For now, this is a one-shot, although I may decide to continue it further at another time.)
Anime/Manga: Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Samurai / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.27.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 2.1K | Status: Completed
Chapter 1.
(For now, this is a one-shot, although I may decide to continue it further at another time.)
Anime/Manga: Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Samurai / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.27.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 2.1K | Status: Completed
Title: Beautiful Thing
Series: Samurai Champloo
Rated: R
Warnings: Sex, death, morbidness, and <b>yaoi</b>!
<lj-cut>
“So, what is a sunflower anyway?”
Jin had not cared for the dark-haired samurai from the first moment at the teashop. He was impatient, irrational, and didn’t follow any of the basic principles of martial arts. His temperament was unstable, his judgment rash, and his mouth foul.
Strangely enough, Jin found himself confounded by Mugen. His style was unique and his personality unpredictable. These things made him an astounding samurai, if that was even the proper term for him. A warrior he was, but a samurai?
Fuu sighed in frustration as she struggled to find the words to explain the flower to her traveling companion. She described its color, its shape, its size and its appearance, but there was a question she could not answer.
“So… what does a sunflower smell like?” Fuu and Jin had no answer. By this, Mugen was frustrated. “How am I supposed to find a guy that stinks if I don’t know what stench to smell for?”
Their journey continued, as always. Many times, Jin and Mugen tried to separate themselves from the young girl, but fate, destiny, or god always led them back to one another. Jin found it… discouraging, but did he or Mugen really have any better purpose in life?
Chance brought them to an inn one night during their journey. Some assistance with a troublesome kidnapper earned them a free meal and lodging on the edge of a tiny no-name town. The building was small, but the village was poor and something small was a blessing in comparison to the wilderness.
Fuu vanished to bathe just outside, where Mugen had a front row seat by a forgotten window. The lodging was uncomfortably tiny, and Jin had no other choice but to observe Mugen’s perverted behaviors as he tended to the fireplace. “I thought she had nothing to see?” he eventually questioned, being very uncomfortable with the invasion of privacy.
Mugen grinned. “It’s fun to tease the kid. She’s no piece of eye-candy, but she is cute.” He paused and glanced at Jin. “Don’t you think?”
Jin responded with an impolite grunt, turning back to the fire.
“Or do you swing the other way?”
The question came so abruptly that it – like many of Mugen’s actions – caught Jin off his guard. It was the most frustrating aspect of his traveling companion, but the one that made their unusual relationship… interesting. Unbeknownst to Jin, his shock induced a lack of response, and the lack of response was indeed an answer.
“Actually… I think she’s pretty hot.” Mugen grinned, his voice musky and low. Finished with the fire, Jin had no other excuse to occupy himself. He sat on the floor near the warm flames and tried to meditate, but not even a second elapsed before his eyes reopened.
Mugen’s fingertips ran along the windowsill, his callous skin marred further by the sharp edges of the old wood. “Can’t you just see her tiny form trapped between the two of us?” His eyes left the window and turned towards Jin, whose face was now a blistering red at the idea of sweet innocent Fuu in such a vulgar position.
The problem was that Jin could see that image in his mind’s eye. He could see Fuu enveloped between himself and Mugen. He could see her pale, thin legs encircling Mugen’s muscular chest. Jin could almost feel her arms circling his neck, fisting his long and dark hair, pulling him closer to her…
But those hands did not belong to Fuu, he realized sharply when hot lips slammed against his own. Yet again, his shock caused a lack of response, and that lack of response was again an answer.
Days later, he would ponder this problem. Why could he awake due to a shift in the wind that subconsciously detected an enemy miles away, but he couldn’t instinctively slit a man’s throat for kissing him?
Mugen pulled back and sharply shoved Jin back across the floor. “Don’t think this means I won’t kill you after all this is over.”
“This?” Jin yanked himself up from the floor as he realized his companion’s hands were undoing his shorts. Mugen chuckled. “Unless you’d care to spend the rest of your youth as a sex slave, but you better be a damn good fuck for that to happen.” The belt was undone, and the ragged crimson shirt thrown to the floor.
“…fuck?” His eyes shifted towards the door, almost hoping Fuu would rush in.
Days later, he would ponder why he wanted a female child to save him.
“I thought you wanted Fuu.” Jin’s eyes returned to Mugen, who had paused on his knees, pants undone and a sizable bulge peeking over the edge.
Mugen merely grin in response. “Why give her that satisfaction?” He reached out, eyes narrowing. His rough fingertips brushed against Jin’s jaw line. “Plus, what kind of pleasure can such an innocent girl provide guys like us?”
“Us…”
Days later, Jin would ponder why he had lost all ability to communicate, to protest, to stand up for himself against this man he had – for a forgotten reason - wanted to kill.
Mugen’s lingering hand lowered, brushing over Jin’s shoulder, down his left arm, and to the blades at his hip. The smaller one was drawn, still stained with the blood of the bothersome kidnapper. It had merely been a young man corrupted by drugs looking for a method to fast cash. To Mugen and Fuu, it was a noble killing… but did either of them really try to justify the lives they took anymore? Had they ever?
“Have you ever tasted it?” Mugen whispered; his voice seemed almost troubled. “Every victim tastes different at first, but eventually all the deaths blend together.” He brought the blade up to his lips and kissed the metal. “Death… it’s no longer about nobility and playing hero, it’s about art… strength. It’s about our strength, Jin”
He hated himself for it, but Jin agreed. After so long living day-to-day and death-to-death, he had learned that life was indeed not a precious, rare, and beautiful thing. Life ended in death, in one way or another. His life, Mugen’s life, and Fuu’s life… they would all one day end in death.
Perhaps, death was the beautiful thing.
“There’s a passion in blood,” Mugen threw the blade aside. It clattered across the floor and halted somewhere in the distance. “A passion that burns inside you, beneath that fucking annoying image you have. Calm, collected, controlled… it’s a front and you know it.” His hand gripped the back of Jin’s neck and pulled him close.
Jin halted – by choice or by lack of force was uncertain - inches from Mugen’s bloodstained lips. Was it true? He wasn’t sure, but what he did know for certain was the heat that seemed to consume Mugen. His hands were like burning logs of fire, his eyes like hot coals…
He was pulled forward again, and this time, by choice he did not resist. Jin could taste the blood on his lips; he could feel Mugen’s tongue sliding across his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Jin allowed himself to be gripped, embraced, and aroused by the intriguing warrior. He breathed in Mugen’s scent of sweat and meat, felt his hot skin so close, and listened to the sound of his heartbeat, thumping so quickly it seemed to hum.
“No good.”
“…uh…”
Mugen had pulled away. Jin slid back against the floor until he could rest against the wall, to hold the appearance of collectiveness without exposing his desperate desire and the shock of rejection.
Mugen returned to the window, rubbing the painful stress between his legs soothingly. His licked away the excess blood from his lips, and Jin followed suit. He could taste the passion of that murdered youth in his blood, as well as the passion that pulsed through Mugen’s veins.
“You don’t know it.” Mugen muttered; his voice was vaguely tainted with disappointment. “You’re too trapped in your ideals and morals and noble deeds to embrace those desires. You see yourself as a man of the people, probably, don’t you? Pussy. You’re a murderer and you know it. Just like me.”
Jin knew. He agreed. But… he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He couldn’t embrace such a dark path; much less find pleasure in it.
Mugen leaned back against the wall. His throbbing erection was pulled free, and idly stroked. Jin stared despite himself.
“No good. What’s life with no passion?” He chuckled. “Little cunt is playing with herself. ‘Bout damn time she started exploring that piece of work.”
“You’ve spied on her before?”
“You haven’t?” Mugen paused, then grinned. “You haven’t. Want to?”
Did he want to? Did he want to what? Jin could walk across this room, his personal arousal hidden by his oversized clothes, and kneel next to Mugen. He could wrap his lips around that throbbing cock, fist its shaft, and embrace that so-called passion in its raw and untamed glory. He could grip Mugen by the untamed mane he called a hairstyle and shove his dark and narrow form up against a wall, he could yank down those loose shorts, and he could explain to the boy a new world of masochistic pleasure. His options were endless.
Yet, all Jin could do was stand and walk towards the backdoor. His only words, “Excuse me.” His only response, a knowing smirk.
Series: Samurai Champloo
Rated: R
Warnings: Sex, death, morbidness, and <b>yaoi</b>!
<lj-cut>
“So, what is a sunflower anyway?”
Jin had not cared for the dark-haired samurai from the first moment at the teashop. He was impatient, irrational, and didn’t follow any of the basic principles of martial arts. His temperament was unstable, his judgment rash, and his mouth foul.
Strangely enough, Jin found himself confounded by Mugen. His style was unique and his personality unpredictable. These things made him an astounding samurai, if that was even the proper term for him. A warrior he was, but a samurai?
Fuu sighed in frustration as she struggled to find the words to explain the flower to her traveling companion. She described its color, its shape, its size and its appearance, but there was a question she could not answer.
“So… what does a sunflower smell like?” Fuu and Jin had no answer. By this, Mugen was frustrated. “How am I supposed to find a guy that stinks if I don’t know what stench to smell for?”
Their journey continued, as always. Many times, Jin and Mugen tried to separate themselves from the young girl, but fate, destiny, or god always led them back to one another. Jin found it… discouraging, but did he or Mugen really have any better purpose in life?
Chance brought them to an inn one night during their journey. Some assistance with a troublesome kidnapper earned them a free meal and lodging on the edge of a tiny no-name town. The building was small, but the village was poor and something small was a blessing in comparison to the wilderness.
Fuu vanished to bathe just outside, where Mugen had a front row seat by a forgotten window. The lodging was uncomfortably tiny, and Jin had no other choice but to observe Mugen’s perverted behaviors as he tended to the fireplace. “I thought she had nothing to see?” he eventually questioned, being very uncomfortable with the invasion of privacy.
Mugen grinned. “It’s fun to tease the kid. She’s no piece of eye-candy, but she is cute.” He paused and glanced at Jin. “Don’t you think?”
Jin responded with an impolite grunt, turning back to the fire.
“Or do you swing the other way?”
The question came so abruptly that it – like many of Mugen’s actions – caught Jin off his guard. It was the most frustrating aspect of his traveling companion, but the one that made their unusual relationship… interesting. Unbeknownst to Jin, his shock induced a lack of response, and the lack of response was indeed an answer.
“Actually… I think she’s pretty hot.” Mugen grinned, his voice musky and low. Finished with the fire, Jin had no other excuse to occupy himself. He sat on the floor near the warm flames and tried to meditate, but not even a second elapsed before his eyes reopened.
Mugen’s fingertips ran along the windowsill, his callous skin marred further by the sharp edges of the old wood. “Can’t you just see her tiny form trapped between the two of us?” His eyes left the window and turned towards Jin, whose face was now a blistering red at the idea of sweet innocent Fuu in such a vulgar position.
The problem was that Jin could see that image in his mind’s eye. He could see Fuu enveloped between himself and Mugen. He could see her pale, thin legs encircling Mugen’s muscular chest. Jin could almost feel her arms circling his neck, fisting his long and dark hair, pulling him closer to her…
But those hands did not belong to Fuu, he realized sharply when hot lips slammed against his own. Yet again, his shock caused a lack of response, and that lack of response was again an answer.
Days later, he would ponder this problem. Why could he awake due to a shift in the wind that subconsciously detected an enemy miles away, but he couldn’t instinctively slit a man’s throat for kissing him?
Mugen pulled back and sharply shoved Jin back across the floor. “Don’t think this means I won’t kill you after all this is over.”
“This?” Jin yanked himself up from the floor as he realized his companion’s hands were undoing his shorts. Mugen chuckled. “Unless you’d care to spend the rest of your youth as a sex slave, but you better be a damn good fuck for that to happen.” The belt was undone, and the ragged crimson shirt thrown to the floor.
“…fuck?” His eyes shifted towards the door, almost hoping Fuu would rush in.
Days later, he would ponder why he wanted a female child to save him.
“I thought you wanted Fuu.” Jin’s eyes returned to Mugen, who had paused on his knees, pants undone and a sizable bulge peeking over the edge.
Mugen merely grin in response. “Why give her that satisfaction?” He reached out, eyes narrowing. His rough fingertips brushed against Jin’s jaw line. “Plus, what kind of pleasure can such an innocent girl provide guys like us?”
“Us…”
Days later, Jin would ponder why he had lost all ability to communicate, to protest, to stand up for himself against this man he had – for a forgotten reason - wanted to kill.
Mugen’s lingering hand lowered, brushing over Jin’s shoulder, down his left arm, and to the blades at his hip. The smaller one was drawn, still stained with the blood of the bothersome kidnapper. It had merely been a young man corrupted by drugs looking for a method to fast cash. To Mugen and Fuu, it was a noble killing… but did either of them really try to justify the lives they took anymore? Had they ever?
“Have you ever tasted it?” Mugen whispered; his voice seemed almost troubled. “Every victim tastes different at first, but eventually all the deaths blend together.” He brought the blade up to his lips and kissed the metal. “Death… it’s no longer about nobility and playing hero, it’s about art… strength. It’s about our strength, Jin”
He hated himself for it, but Jin agreed. After so long living day-to-day and death-to-death, he had learned that life was indeed not a precious, rare, and beautiful thing. Life ended in death, in one way or another. His life, Mugen’s life, and Fuu’s life… they would all one day end in death.
Perhaps, death was the beautiful thing.
“There’s a passion in blood,” Mugen threw the blade aside. It clattered across the floor and halted somewhere in the distance. “A passion that burns inside you, beneath that fucking annoying image you have. Calm, collected, controlled… it’s a front and you know it.” His hand gripped the back of Jin’s neck and pulled him close.
Jin halted – by choice or by lack of force was uncertain - inches from Mugen’s bloodstained lips. Was it true? He wasn’t sure, but what he did know for certain was the heat that seemed to consume Mugen. His hands were like burning logs of fire, his eyes like hot coals…
He was pulled forward again, and this time, by choice he did not resist. Jin could taste the blood on his lips; he could feel Mugen’s tongue sliding across his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Jin allowed himself to be gripped, embraced, and aroused by the intriguing warrior. He breathed in Mugen’s scent of sweat and meat, felt his hot skin so close, and listened to the sound of his heartbeat, thumping so quickly it seemed to hum.
“No good.”
“…uh…”
Mugen had pulled away. Jin slid back against the floor until he could rest against the wall, to hold the appearance of collectiveness without exposing his desperate desire and the shock of rejection.
Mugen returned to the window, rubbing the painful stress between his legs soothingly. His licked away the excess blood from his lips, and Jin followed suit. He could taste the passion of that murdered youth in his blood, as well as the passion that pulsed through Mugen’s veins.
“You don’t know it.” Mugen muttered; his voice was vaguely tainted with disappointment. “You’re too trapped in your ideals and morals and noble deeds to embrace those desires. You see yourself as a man of the people, probably, don’t you? Pussy. You’re a murderer and you know it. Just like me.”
Jin knew. He agreed. But… he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He couldn’t embrace such a dark path; much less find pleasure in it.
Mugen leaned back against the wall. His throbbing erection was pulled free, and idly stroked. Jin stared despite himself.
“No good. What’s life with no passion?” He chuckled. “Little cunt is playing with herself. ‘Bout damn time she started exploring that piece of work.”
“You’ve spied on her before?”
“You haven’t?” Mugen paused, then grinned. “You haven’t. Want to?”
Did he want to? Did he want to what? Jin could walk across this room, his personal arousal hidden by his oversized clothes, and kneel next to Mugen. He could wrap his lips around that throbbing cock, fist its shaft, and embrace that so-called passion in its raw and untamed glory. He could grip Mugen by the untamed mane he called a hairstyle and shove his dark and narrow form up against a wall, he could yank down those loose shorts, and he could explain to the boy a new world of masochistic pleasure. His options were endless.
Yet, all Jin could do was stand and walk towards the backdoor. His only words, “Excuse me.” His only response, a knowing smirk.