Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ XIX. Ah, summer grasses ( Chapter 19 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Additional writing credits for this chapter should be given to Yoko Kanno, who makes some crazy fine earworms; and to everyone who’s read thus far. I think you knew this chapter was coming, yeah?

WARNING: Graphic violence. And, holy moo, the fluff!

Nenju


She let her fingers twine into the warm cloth of his sleeve. The strangeness of Mugen not walking ahead of them aside, it felt so weirdly normal to be walking with him. They could have been any man and woman, she thought; any of a thousand, ten thousand people, thinking about things like replacing the wobbly leg on that old brazier or what was eating the blossoms on the kabocha plants in the vegetable garden back home. Home —

“You ever wonder about what you’d be doing now if things had been different?” Fuu asked, regretting the question the moment it hung in the air between them.

“Hm?” Jin turned his head toward her, his hair swinging heavily between his shoulders. “How do you mean?”

“If nothing had happened at the dojo, I suppose. Would you still be there?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The Mujuu — the first time I fought him, he said it would have been his by then if I hadn’t killed Mariya-dono.”

She frowned; that man from the island. “But how does that — your master would have given it to him?”

Something flickered in his face and was gone. “No,” he said simply.

Oh. She tightened her grasp on the cloth.

He walked along calmly, the same unhurried pace as before, but his hands had come out of his sleeves. “You?” he asked.

“Me?”

“What would you be doing?” He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye. “You did ask me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s stupid,” she warned.

His mouth gave a twitch. “We’re on a journey,” he reminded her, “with a man who wanted to use acorns as money. You can do worse, you think?”

Fuu giggled. “He did, didn’t he? And he was serious.”

“Mm,” he agreed.

“It’s — I was thinking about how many other people were doing something like this, going to someone’s house. It’s so normal, you know? It just feels a little strange. We don’t do normal stuff like this — people trying to kill us, pirates sinking ships, we do those kinds of things.”

Jin cocked his head to one side, interested. “You prefer pirates?”

“No!” she said, a tide of crimson flooding her face, as his face took on a faint air of amusement. Err — wait. “I mean, it’s sort of funny, don’t you think?”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t trust Maria and her sons not to want to kill us.”

“ . . . it doesn’t, actually.” She frowned.

“Ah. Normal,” he prompted, hands slipping back into the sleeves.

Fuu shrugged. “Before my mother started to feel — my mother was thinking about arranging a marriage for me. With my father gone, there weren’t a lot — did your master — I mean, did anyone ever, ah — “ she trailed off incoherently.

“Was a marriage ever arranged for me?” he asked. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Mariya-dono mentioned it once, but I don’t think anything ever came of it. He wasn’t, himself, so he may not have thought it was important.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be married,” she said. “I just — who’d have me?”

“Fuu — “

”I was a brothel girl, and before that, there was the sunflower field,” she told him bleakly. “I have no parents, and people I don’t even know want to kill me, and I’m old and I’m going to get really ugly with, I don’t know, big warts on my face and then I’ll die and my corpse will be eaten by dogs — “

“Fuu, you are neither ugly nor old,” he said, strongly. “And the sunflower field, and your parents — none of that is your fault. You would make any man happy. What about the p — ashigaru in Kyoto?”

She laughed. “It’s different for women, you know it is. We aren’t supposed to — I never could’ve married Toku without telling him, and he never would’ve wanted to marry me if he’d known.”

“Then he would have been a fool,” the ronin told her.

“Aren’t they all?” The words were out, before she could catch them; she winced, as he came to a halt so abrupt that she nearly collided with his elbow. Oh, hey, she thought. This conversation can get more awkward! Huh. How about that. Maybe if I climbed that tree, I could just live up there and I’d never see Jin giving me that look that —

“No,” he said. “I am not.” His eyes were speculative, filled with something she felt like she should recognize but didn’t, as she let his sleeve fall from her grasp.

She stopped breathing; then drew in air, deep and deliberate, to quiet the wild drumming of her heart, as if she’d been running, as if demons were at her heels —

Those long fingers came up to cradle her head, his thumbs resting gently over the arch of her cheekbones. Oh — her breath tangled inside her throat as his lips brushed over her brow, pulled back; his voice was a low rumble she felt in her toes, in her belly. “Would you tell me if you don’t want this?”

“Jin — “ She could smell him, the warm salt of his skin; would he taste salty, she wondered, as those expressive fingers laced into her hair. He bent slightly, resting his forehead softly against hers as his dark eyes looked at her intently.

“Because it would be better to tell me now,” he said. “May I?”

She swallowed, lifted her face. “Please,” she told him. Fuu heard a harsh triumphant breath, as something caught inside his eyes and lips slid cool and smooth over her mouth, before — oh, she thought. Oh.

The feel of his mouth on hers was revelation — the man she had thought she knew running through her fingers like water as she saw him, the man he really was — the dark, ravenous hunger at the heart of him flowing together under her hands as she understood. I know you, she wanted to tell him, I know what you are.

He was holding her too carefully, as if she would shatter; she made a small, dissatisfied noise and he froze, until her hand came round to grip at his back, pulling him in. Still not close enough: she opened her mouth to draw in his surprisingly soft lower lip as his fingers tightened on her skin, his mouth unfolding against hers in fire and sweetness and he tasted like nothing she’d ever known, better than honey, better than anything — she took hold of that silky, ink-colored hair as if she were drowning.

Long fingers swept down from her face to stroke down, down over her back, trailing over her spine and the swell of her bottom to pull her leg up to curve round his hip; she obeyed the silent demand of hands and mouth, the cloth of her kimono rucking up around her thighs as he lifted her, his hands clutching over cloth and bare skin, her ankles locking around his waist.

They slid across each other deliciously, as he carried her up to the tree she’d thought about living in moments ago (hazily, she thought that still sounded like an excellent idea, but only if she could bring him with her) and pressed up against it, leaning her back against the trunk so that her face was level with his. Unsure, she let her leg fall over his hip toward the ground — was she too heavy? — and he grunted in disapproval before she felt his strong fingers pulling her thigh back up around his waist, ghosting delicately over her bare skin.

Distantly, she recognized how careful, how gentle he was being, how much choice he was giving her, and how little she wanted that right now. She arched her back, rolling her hips against him, and was rewarded with a small strained sound that he muffled against her mouth; she grinned to herself, before he pushed closer and kissed her — the bottom fell out of the world and the only thing that was left was the sweet clear taste of him, the feel of his teeth under her tongue, the press of —

Oh. Well.

That . . . was not his hip.

She pushed against his chest with the heel of her hand and he stopped, her panting loud in her own ears as he stared at her, his eyes dark and wild. He saw something there, she knew, because he let her legs slip to the ground — she whined, low in her throat, as she slid over him; he closed his eyes at the sound — and pressed his forehead into the tree trunk over her head. “Jin — “ She moved to the side, hands trembling as she straightened her clothing.

”I need a moment,” he said to the tree, before his eyes flicked sideways to her.

“Oh. Sorry?”

“No, it — mm.” He was bent slightly at the waist, Fuu saw, his hands propped on his thighs. She bit back a pleased smile, which she doubted he would appreciate. Finally, he straightened up and she realized most of his hair had worked loose, hanging over his back in the most — she counted to thirty inside her head before she trusted herself not to try to gnaw through the ties of his hakama, which would have the potential for making things very weird around the campfire later that night. It would be weird enough already, she admitted to herself. Now what the hell was she going to do about Mugen?

She ruthlessly squashed the little voice that pointed out the Ryukyuan hadn’t shown so much as a flicker of interest since Motomachi; she could think about that later. Much later. “Uh,” she began awkwardly. “So!”

Jin nodded, kimono falling away from his forearms as he tied his hair back, filling her head with thoughts that involved licking the hollow under his ear. “Hn,” he agreed; it was so perfectly him that her giggle bubbled up unstoppably. He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry — the eyebrow! — which only made her laugh harder.

“Sorry,” she gasped out. “But . . . that . . . ‘hn’?”

His mouth quirked slightly. “Ah?” he offered.

Grinning, Fuu shook her head. “Mou, I don’t even get a full word?” She reached behind her to brush bits of tree off her backside. He gave her a real smile then, her breath catching as he reached to pick stubborn pieces of bark off her kimono; solemn, he was unbelievably handsome, but smiling — “You’re beautiful,” she told him, her fingers coming up to trace along his mouth.

He frowned. “What?”

“You are,” she insisted, stroking the line of his jaw, as his hand came up to catch hers, pull it away.

“I can be beautiful later,” he said. “Maria is expecting us now, however.” His fingers gave hers a light squeeze and let them fall.

“Yeah.” Her voice was unenthusiastic in her own ears; he smiled again at her, gloriously.

“Then we should talk,” he said. She nodded, as his fingers came up to stroke her hip; her eyes lidded with inarticulate pleasure.

This time, it was the cook from the little stand who opened the door to them, his eyebrows rising as he took in their appearance; she blushed, feeling the tips of her ears burn as she went in. They’d tidied themselves as best they could, but it was one thing to walk through the trees with Jin, and another to sit through a meal with other people as the ronin lifted a cup to that mouth — surreptitiously, she fanned herself. Stupid, hot little house.

Maria looked up as they came in, her face brightening. “Seizo’s daughter! And her — “ she paused.

“Please, Jin will do,” the ronin told her.

“Ah, compassion. Always welcome in a Christian house,” she told him, as the cook came in behind them. “My son, Erasmus.”

“Daigoro,” the man corrected. “My mother and brother are Christians. I’m not.”
Fuu smiled brightly over the sudden discomfort in the room, as the ronin nodded politely. The tree was sounding more and more like the better idea, she decided.

“You and your brother escaped from Ikitsuki, I believe?” Jin asked, setting down his cup.

Erasmus-Daigoro grunted. “Yeah.”

“May I ask how you managed? I’ve heard the shogun’s archers are excellent,” the ronin asked, as Fuu sighed. It was heavy weather, attempting to make conversation with the cook, who seemed determined to ruin the evening that his mother seemed just as determined to enjoy; the younger brother spoke rarely, and Fuu decided she could hardly blame him. Who’d want to talk to a brother like that?

Her eyes went again to Jin, lingering on the clean line of his throat; he looked away from Daigoro-Erasmus — now in the middle of what sounded like a bout of wild boasting — for a moment, catching her as she watched him. His mouth twitched in a brief smile as she blushed furiously and dropped her eyes to her lap.

When she looked up again, Maria was wrinkling her nose in amusement and patted her hand. “It’s like that, is it?” the old woman said. “I remember when I met my husband, I couldn’t say a word to him, I was so nervous. You’ll get over it, don’t worry.”

Eep! The little voice inside Fuu wibbled directly into a wall and was knocked out cold, while she was busy gaping at Maria. “Wha — no! It’s not — because — err — no,” she stammered.

The old woman gave her a skeptical look. “If you’re sure,” she said. “He has lovely manners, and if he ever smiled — “

”Really? I’ve never seen that, so — “

Maria leaned close. “Was Seizo ever able to meet him?”

Fuu’s eyes went wide. “Ah, no.”

“Shame. He would have liked him.”

“ . . . “ Fuu snapped her mouth shut, before Jin could look over and wonder why she was suddenly pretending to be a trout. She could do this, it was only a few questions, and Maria meant well, she was sure —

“Have you met his parents?”

— even if the idea of being captured by the shogun’s men was beginning to sound better and better in comparison to be interrogated by an old woman on her love life. She eyed Erasmus-Daigoro; perhaps she and the ronin could switch?

She breathed a huge sigh of relief as soon as the lantern light of the little house faded behind them. “Thank you for a really awful evening,” she told him, taking hold of his sleeve. “I really don’t know how you’re going to top that. Maybe if you poked me a few times with your wakizashi? Flesh wound - yes, that should do it.”

He gave a quiet snort; the moon was bright enough that she could see the path easily, let alone the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Did you just laugh?” she asked, her mouth starting to curve upward into a smile. “Because, not funny. You got the jerk, I got stuck with the old lady who likes me. How was that fair?”

“No,” he said calmly. “But it was — what did she say? You were doing the most extraordinary things with your face, and I was distracted.”

“Nothing, really — distracted? Are you sure? I don’t remember that happening.”

“Hm.” He slowed his steps, his arm moving more than usual inside the sleeve she held. “Distracted. What do you remember?”

Ah. “Is this the talk?” she asked, as he came to a stop.

Jin nodded, his skin luminous under the moon. “We should discuss what happened.”
“ . . . um. Probably.” Her hands were trembling, she noticed; she let go of the cloth, and folded her arms across her chest.

He studied her a moment before saying, “You’re nervous.”

Fuu gave him a look. “Of course I’m nervous!” she burst out. “I don’t know what this is — I’m not even sure what I’m doing, I’ve hardly ever done this kind of thing before. And I don’t know what you’re doing, because since when is this something you think of doing with me? You probably don’t even — “

”Fuu.” Jin rested his hand on her shoulder. “You talk too much, and I understand only about half of what you say. But it makes you Fuu. Do you understand?”

“No,” she told him. “And I think you’re in a lot of — I talk too much?” She pursed her lips unhappily.

“All right.” His hand moved up her shoulder, coming to rest on the back of her neck where his thumb lightly soothed small arcs into the tender skin there. “I don’t know what this is, either, but I would like to find out. What do you want?”

She made a small noise he took as agreement, her fingers going loose and boneless from the neck rub, as she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. He made that quiet snort again (really, she thought, that sound had to be a laugh) and kissed her forehead.

He tucked her under his chin, as she burrowed closer to him sleepily. Too much good food, she decided, and mm, warm — “‘Hardly’?” he asked.

“Mm?”

“You said ‘hardly’.”

“Oh.” Shit, she thought helpfully. Err — “Yes?” She closed her eyes again.

“Hey.” He bumped her with his actual hip, this time; she knew he could wait all night, if need be —

“Mugen,” she muttered into his chest. “‘S all right, he didn’t — “
Oh, that wasn’t the laugh snort; that was the — ooh. This wouldn’t be good, would it?

Grimly, she hurried after him, cursing the shortness of her legs and the utter impractical nature of kimono for pursuit. He wore hakama and was much taller — of course he’d outpace her, she grumbled to herself; Jin was a reasonable man, Mugen wouldn’t come to harm.

Probably.

Just in case, she hitched the skirt of her kimono up over her knees and ran.

She skidded to a stop just within sight of the clearing they’d chosen; the Ryukyuan was already sprawled out on his sleeping mat, curled toward the well-banked fire and yawning as Jin stood over him — she covered her mouth. Oh, this couldn’t be good.

“What the hell, fish face?” Mugen complained, a faint note of reproach in his voice. “Dammit, I just fell asleep — “

”Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up.” All warmth had burned away from the ronin’s voice, leaving it as icy as she’d ever heard.

Geta crunched against the ground, then: “What’s going on?” Mugen’s voice was sharper, serious: all traces of sleep had vanished.

She crept closer to hide behind a pine, her eyes fixed on the two men. The Ryukyuan, his hands empty, stood in front of the ronin, with his palms turned outward. In contrast, Jin‘s hand was curled around the hilt of her father’s katana. “Your sword.”

Mugen began circling around the other man, careful to keep his hands in front of him. “Not going to do it,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The ronin’s tone did not vary, as he moved lightly, eyes intent on his opponent. “Your sword.”

“Not like this, Jin. Put it away — I don’t wanna fight you.”

“You went behind my back.” The iron control slipped, then, the disciplined ronin fracturing and the man made of hunger pushing to come out through the crack. No, no, please — her fingers bit into the bark of the tree, the weeping resin sharp and astringent in her nose.

Mugen stopped, staring narrowly at Jin, then: “What did you do?”

“Draw your sword.”

“No.” The Ryukyuan slipped the scabbard over his shoulder, throwing the longsword to the edge of the clearing where it landed with a thunk. “I want to do this with my hands, prick.”

She sagged to her knees against the pine. It would be worse if she came out, she knew, but that failed to quiet the little voice that singsonged of her fault in this.

The katana slid into the sheath, before the daisho landed in the grass. There was a hiss of satisfaction, then: “ . . . yes . . . ” before she heard Mugen grunt, saw him move back, holding his shoulder.

Jin swung on him, as Mugen rolled back, ducking as he took an opening and hit the ronin in the side. The ronin let the momentum push him back, taking the hit in order to knee the other man in the stomach and they fell to the ground, clawing and gouging. Mugen tried to knee him in the groin, but Jin drew his legs up and kicked him in the ribs as Fuu watched; the Ryukyuan spat a gout of blood onto the grass that pooled, dark red by the firelight.

Mugen rolled free, up into a crouch with glimmering eyes fixed on the ronin. “What’s pissing you off more? That I got there?” he taunted, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Or that I got there first?” Her fingernails bit crescent moons into her palms —

The ronin was silent, drifting round to the other man’s left, away from the fire —

“I’d tell you what she tastes like, but you know already. She still make that one noise? Sounds like a kitten a little bit, kind of comes from in here.” The Ryukyuan wiggled his fingers at his throat, then was thrown back as Jin hit him in the stomach with his shoulder.
She saw Mugen grin savagely, his hands coming up, trying to work his thumbs in near the ronin’s eyes, then the flutter of silky black hair as the ronin smashed him in the mouth with his forehead; Mugen’s grip on the ronin was loose, but he kept it, rolling them over, pinning Jin underneath him as the ronin thrashed and tried to throw the other man off. She got up, then — either they were through, or Mugen was going to make a serious attempt to kill Jin.

The Ryukyuan looked up at the sound of her feet moving through the grass, and she saw his lip was split. “Mugen — “

”You bitch,” he said quietly, his hands loosening on Jin’s collar as the ronin stilled at her approach. “I was trying.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You were trying? What, exactly?”

“I knew, so I didn’t — “ he muttered. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

Oh. Oh no, no — she sat down next to them, as Mugen got off Jin. The ronin sat up gingerly, rubbing his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The Ryukyuan looked at the other man, then back at her. “ . . . I don’t know. Just didn’t.”

“What do you want to do?” Jin asked her.

She drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs tightly instead of either of them. “I don’t know,” she told them honestly.












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