Author’s Note: this fic is dedicated to Technoelfie in recognition of turning me on to yet another weird fandom, and also to cheer her up from the thesis blues.


For those of you unfamiliar with the Samurai Champloo fandom (that’ll be everyone but me and Technoelfie, I expect), here’s what you need to know to understand this:


Fuu is a girl with a mysterious vendetta-- she's searching for the samurai who smells like sunflowers. She blackmails Jin and Mugen, two skilled samurai, into helping her. Jin is calm, cool and collected-- rather like a cross between Haldir and Sesshoumaru. Mugen is brash, loud, and cocky-- shades of Spike, definitely. He and Jin have a huge rivalry going.



Combine and Conquer

by CinnamonGrrl



It was perfectly reasonable, Jin supposed as they walked the dusty road to Nagasaki, that this compulsion he had to defeat Mugen would take this final, somewhat perturbing manifestation. After all, they’d battled in nearly every other way already.


Sometimes Mugen won, as in the eating contest. But then, Jin had been only too pleased to lose rather than make the spectacle of himself that Mugen had done, laying flat on his back on the dusty ground, distended belly bulging from his shirt.


And sometimes Jin had been the victor, as when he’d defeated the old man at a game of chess with the cost of three ferry passages at stake. It was to Jin’s deep satisfaction that not only had be shown his superiority to Mugen in that instance, but he had done so in an intellectual and dignified manner. The idea almost brought a smile to his lips.




Their competition had stepped up in recent weeks. It had all begun when Jin had finally conquered Mugen during their daily sword-battle. And it hadn’t been a small conquest, either—nothing that could have been excused away or justified. No, it had been a clear and obvious triumph, and that time he had smiled. Fuu had nearly fainted from shock and fear at the sight.


Ever since, Mugen had been hyperextending himself to prove to the world—and perhaps especially to Jin—that he was better, could do more. More kills when they fought others, more women when they visited the geishas, more money when there was work for hire.


And the fact that Jin couldn’t care less had driven him wild, had driven the last bit of sense out of his already senseless head.


Mugen seduced Fuu one night, determined to win that race before Jin had even thought of running it. She’d been bathing by the river, and he’d shucked those ludicrous clothes and slitted his dark eyes in that way he had, that evil and determined way that made you want to just give up because there was no point in arguing.


Jin wasn’t sure what he thought of that. Fuu was certainly old enough to be fucking—girls younger than her were wives and mothers already. She just seemed so young. Try as he might, he couldn’t successfully imagine that squeaky little voice moaning in rapture, couldn’t picture those wide eyes lustfully lowered to half-mast as her lanky limbs were spread for a man’s pleasure.


He also wasn’t sure how he felt, knowing that Mugen had fucked Fuu not because he’d wanted her, but because he’d wanted to get there before Jin. Knowing that, as Mugen had pumped himself into Fuu’s little body, had come into her, it had been Jin he’d been thinking of.


Most of all, he wasn’t sure where this erection had come from. But, as he’d thought before, it was probably perfectly normal. They’d fought in every other way. What else was left, but a battle to see who could take whom in the most primal way of all?


But first…


Mugen’s unprecedented discretion in taking Fuu out of sight and sound of Jin that first time had apparently expended the entirety of his possession of that virtue—he took her every night thereafter, as well, but didn’t bother to leave Jin’s vicinity.


It had been thirteen days in a row, now, that Jin had watched impassively as Mugen had fucked Fuu into the ground, floor, pile of hay, or wherever else they’d made their camp for the night. Thirteen times that Jin had watched the sinuous and rhythmic clenching of Mugen’s pale buttocks as he’d thrust into the girl, thirteen times that he’d observed the other man throw his head back and cry out, harsh and guttural, as he came.


Jin thought his technique left much to be desired, to be honest.


Not that he was hugely concerned with his partner’s pleasure—he’d never loved anyone but himself, and was wholly committed to keeping it that way—but it was a matter of pride and honour, to his way of thinking. Better to leave your partner limp with satisfaction, wrung out by the orgasms you’d provided, than sulking with crossed arms because you were done and they were not.


Poor Fuu. It was clear she was getting tired of being aroused, time and again, only to be left hanging when Mugen finished, rolled off her, grinned maliciously over at Jin, and fell asleep. The competitive part of Jin—was there any other part? he wondered sometimes—determined that, yes, Mugen had been her first, but Jin would be her best.


Still memorable, but for a vastly different—and preferable—reason.


And if Jin were able to coerce Mugen into joining the festivities, all the better. His cock leapt at the thought, at the barest hint of taking Mugen, of forcing him to his knees, of pushing his legs apart and making him welcome Jin into that long, wiry, seemingly tireless body of his.


Jin closed his eyes and willed his erection away with the promise of victory. There were many ways to win. He had an idea that it wouldn’t take much to convince Mugen, sybarite and glutton that he was. Jin had learnt more than just chess at his dojo, after all.




*           *           *




He chose an evening when Mugen had gone off to bash some heads for extra pocket change. It was still early, dusk only beginning to fall, and the fireflies had not started to come out yet. Fuu puttered around the little shack they’d claimed for the night, trying to fluff the wilted straw into some semblance of a comfortable bed and then sighing when she realized it was hopeless.


“Sorry, Jin-san,” she said with one of those deprecating little smiles. Her eyes seemed to swallow her entire face, and he wondered if he’d be able to follow through with his plan. Then she sighed again, staring at the straw, and he imagined it was a sigh of resignation as she pictured Mugen taking her that night, and the inevitable disappointment she would experience.




His mind made up, Jin silently padded over to stand behind her.


“What is it, Jin?” she asked, trying to turn to face him, but he slid his arms around her little body, one hand coming to cup her breast while the other curved between her legs. “Jin?” she repeated, her voice thin, as if it were close to breaking.


He said nothing, only lowered his lips to the side of her throat, both hands squeezing gently, rhythmically. Her nipple hardened against his palm, and the small handful of her breast trembled in the cage of his fingers. She was a slip of a girl, with scarcely any curves to her, and Jin almost felt bad for involving her in this contest between himself and Mugen.


But, he thought, Mugen had started it. He was only going to finish it.


His fingers pushed aside the flaps of her kimono, then beneath her undergarment, to slide between the moistening folds between her legs. There was hardly any hair there, and what there was, was very soft and short. He tugged it lightly and was pleased to hear her whimper as she slumped yieldingly against him.


His free hand made short work of her obi, and then he was pushing her kimono off her narrow shoulders and turning her to face him. His enthusiasm flagged momentarily at the sight of her, all gangly limbs and fragile bones poking out against her skin, but then she opened her eyes and looked at him.


“Make it good, will you, Jin?” she asked. “Don’t make me feel like you’re using me.”


Ah, so she was aware of Mugen’s motives. Smart girl. He’d have to remember not to underestimate her. Nodding, he pushed her gently back into the straw and began to disrobe.


It was gratifying to watch her face as he stripped. Because his clothing was so voluminous, it was easy to assume that his body was not terribly well-muscled, but many years of katas and fighting had honed him into a work of art. He was quite aware that his long thighs perfectly framed his erection, and actually had to fight his mouth’s impulse to twitch into a smile at the sight of Fuu licking her lips in anticipation.


Then he had to fight his mind’s insistence upon thinking gloatingly of Mugen, of how that one hadn’t been able to arouse this response in the girl. This is no time to be thinking of Mugen, he told himself sternly, and knelt between Fuu’s feet.


She bit her lip as he took one ankle in each hand and pressed them apart. “What are you looking at?” she asked defensively as he studied her, taking in the soft doe-coloured wisps of hair, the pink flesh revealed by her sprawled-open legs. She was already quite wet.


Still, Jin said nothing. He leant forward on his hands, bringing his mouth on a level with her breasts, and took her nipple between his teeth, nibbling lightly. Immediately, Fuu’s hands came to clench in his hair and her back arched. “Ahh,” she moaned. It was still squeaky, but not as dampening to his arousal as he’d feared.


When he lifted his head from her chest, her hands tightened in protest, wanting to keep him there, but he disengaged her from his hair and moved down to settle between her legs. She smelled good, he thought with relief, and spread her open with his thumbs before giving one long lick.


“Ahh!” Fuu shrieked, and Jin winced, but persevered. Thankfully, the deeper into the throes of ecstasy he brought her, the deeper her voice went, and when she came around his tongue the heartfelt groan she emitted was actually rather exciting to him.


Jin crawled up her body once more, wiping his mouth and chin with one hand, and watched as she panted, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving from exertion. When she opened her eyes to find him looming over her, his cock quite clearly still hard against her thigh, her face lit up.


“More?” she asked brightly.


He nodded, and knelt up between her legs. Taking himself in hand, he watched as her gaze became glued to it. “It’s… thick,” Fuu muttered. “Will it fit?” Jin nodded again, and rubbed the head against her, coating it with her juices. He slid it lower, poised at her entrance, and then Mugen shoved open the door.


For once, he was struck speechless, and just stood in the threshold, taking in the scene. Fuu was spread wide, arms and legs, before Jin, her entire body flushed with pleasure. Jin peered at Mugen over his spectacles, quirked a brow, then took her hips in his hands and jerked Fuu toward him.


He impaled her in one swift thrust, then allowed his eyes to close for a moment, just a moment, at the sensation of tightness—hotness—wetness clenching around him like a fist.


“Ohh, Jinnn,” she moaned, throat arching as she pushed her head back into the dingy straw, giving herself up to him entirely.


He heard a rustle of fabric and opened his eyes to find Mugen standing beside them, naked and disgruntled even as his eyes seemed lit by a rather ominous fire.


“Let’s give her something else to do with her mouth besides say your name,” Mugen said with a lopsided grin, and moved to kneel over her, straddling her chest so his cock was within reach of her mouth.


Now all Jin could see was Mugen’s back, the curves of his ass—even untouched by sun, it was darker than the skin of Jin’s face and hands—just a mere foot away. Mugen’s tangled halo of hair seemed to vibrate as he threw his head back, groaning, and Jin knew Fuu had sucked the other man into her mouth.


“Take it, Fuu,” Mugen commanded, his voice gritty and tight with pleasure. His hips thrust sensuously and he dropped his head forward as he struggled not to give in too quickly. Jin wanted to sink his teeth into the strong neck before him, to feel its pulse against his tongue.


But that could wait. The right moment was imperative, after all. Judging by the tempo and cadence of Fuu’s and Mugen’s cries, both were close to completion. Jin fucked her faster, harder, and almost bit through his tongue at the effort of holding back when she came hard, clamping around him spasmically and thrashing under his and Mugen’s bodies.


Mugen, too, was losing control, and fell forward onto his hands to thrust into Fuu’s mouth once she was a little recovered from her second orgasm. That put him in a perfect position for Jin’s purposes, and he did not withdraw from Fuu, but kept pulsing his cock into her in short movements even as he leant forward, took Mugen’s waist in his hands, and pushed his tongue right up into his ass.


Mugen screamed. Screamed, shuddered, and poured himself copiously down Fuu’s throat. Jin did not bother to fight the smirk that insisted on making its presence known, even as he lapped and licked and nipped at Mugen, who seemed to be unable to stop twitching, unable to stop thrusting both forward and backward.


Jin took advantage of his indisposition to flip him over, off Fuu and onto his back. In a flash, Jin was between his legs, gripping his thighs and pulling them around his hips as Mugen panted and fought for breath. He reached to Fuu and pushed two fingers into her, drenching them with her juices, before removing them and positioning them at Mugen’s asshole.


“No,” Mugen gasped, finally returning to himself. “You’re not fucking me.” He tried to move away, but Jin planted his other hand squarely on Mugen’s chest.


“Didn’t know it could be like that, did you?” Jin asked, speaking for the first time. “Don’t you want to know about the rest?” And he pushed one finger in.


Mugen began to fight him in earnest then, even as Jin’s finger ghosted over a certain area deep within that made his pelvis undulate like a dirty traitor, made his breath shudder in a whispered prayer for mercy.


“Not like this,” Mugen gritted out. His eyes were narrow, lethal; he was getting angry, really angry. Jin pushed in another finger, stroked that spot harder.


“Like what, then?” Jin asked, and Mugen keened, face turned to the side, pressed into the straw. His deadly hands came up to Jin’s shoulders, pushing away, scrambling for purchase on the sweat-slick skin, and Jin slid in a third finger.


“You want to be the one to fuck me,” Jin stated flatly, and Mugen turned his head back, glared up with hot eyes. “The one to take—“ he rubbed the sweet spot firmly, for punctuation, “to win—“ rub, “to conquer.”


“That’s why you fucked Fuu, after all,” Jin continued, and spread his fingers inside Mugen, stretching him wide open. Mugen sucked in a breath and began to thrash his legs, desperate to get away. Jin withdrew his fingers.


“And that’s why I’m fucking you.” And he jammed his cock, still wet from Fuu, into Mugen in one long, endless stroke.


Mugen bucked and arched beneath him, whether in agony or delight, Jin couldn’t tell. His eyes, when he looked up, were wild with rage. “I’m going to kill you for this,” he promised. For response, Jin made sure his stroke angled across that magical spot.


“Take it, Mugen,” was all Jin said, mimicking Mugen’s own words to Fuu earlier, and rocked his hips more deeply, forcing more of himself inside.


Mugen hissed in fury, then grinned, a slow slash of a smile spreading across his face. “If you’re going to do it, then do it,” he said, and grabbed for Jin’s ass. “Harder.”


Jin, never pausing in his thrusts, reached to the side for some cord. Before Mugen realized what was happening, his wrists had been trussed and Jin was holding them down, pinning them to his waist. “Fuu, let’s give him something else to do with his mouth besides talk.”


She was still mystified, and more than a little perturbed that they were fucking each other, but came forward and let Jin position her over Mugen’s mouth, facing him. “You might as well,” Jin told him. “It’s either lick, or smother.”


Mugen chose to lick, and it wasn’t long before Fuu was moaning once more, her eyes fixed on Jin’s face. “You haven’t taken your spectacles off,” she said irrelevantly.


Yes, keeping her mouth busy was an excellent idea. Jin leant forward and kissed her, forcing her mouth open, making her accept his tongue, making her taste herself in his mouth as he tasted Mugen in hers.


Mugen tore himself away from Fuu for a moment. “Touch me,” he growled. “Do something.”


Fuu reached down and took his hard cock in hand, closing her fingers around it and stroking. He bucked up against the friction, which made Jin sink even deeper, and Mugen moaned around Fuu’s clit at the sensation. All three of them were enraptured by this connection, this living symbiosis of pleasure, and Jin felt his head fairly swimming with lust.


It was going exactly and not at all as planned. He’d had Fuu, he was fucking Mugen, and though there was a fierce glow of satisfaction, of triumph, there was also a bone-deep delight at the feel of Mugen clamped around him, of Mugen’s legs wrapped around his hips as the other man pressed up, eager to be invaded.


The flowery scent of Fuu’s skin, the perfume of her juices, was heady in the air; the taste of her mouth, her soft hot tongue darting against his as they kissed, was making him dizzy. He ran his hands over her silky little breasts, down her sides and hips and thighs, then reached to grab Mugen’s legs, loving the contrast of hair-covered skin rasping against his palms. She came again, gasping into Jin’s mouth, then slid bonelessly to the side, landing in a blissfully smiling heap and passing out from exhaustion.


“I’m going to come in you,” Jin told Mugen, his body a blur as he pushed in, pulled out, over and over. “I’m going to come in you, and then you’ll know who won.”


Somewhere under Fuu’s body, Mugen laughed, a grating sound. “Do you really think… you’ve won?” he asked, taunting, cocky, infuriating as always. “You may think so, but in the end, I’ll win.”


And he constricted his ass around Jin’s cock, tightening until Jin’s eyes were crossing at the sensation. Eyes tightly shut, head back, body taut as a bowstring, he couldn’t fight off orgasm any longer, couldn’t fend off the excitement of knowing that lean body was thrashing beneath him, pierced so deeply, taking every inch of him.


He came. “Take it, Mugen,” he groaned, emptying himself into him. “Take it all.” It seemed like forever, wave after wave of pleasure that was nearly pain. “Mugen…”


But Mugen was not to be outdone. “Give it to me, Jin,” he commanded, steely gaze locked on Jin’s. “Give it all to me.” And then he was coming, tendons on his neck standing out sharply, teeth biting into his lip, cock purple as it sprayed semen over both of them. “Jin, Jin.”


Jin abruptly pulled out and fell over, panting shallowly as he fought to regain strength in his limbs. Then he rolled just as abruptly to the side and sprang to his feet to avoid the sword that came within a hair of slicing his head off. In a heartbeat, his katana was in his hand, and he and Mugen were circling each other, naked as the day they were born.


“You didn’t think I’d let that go, did you?” Mugen demanded, a feral light in his black eyes.


Jin curled one side of his mouth. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.” He used the tip of his katana to draw a swirly pattern across Mugen’s chest, arcing from his left nipple down to his navel, the shallow cut immediately painted with scarlet.


Mugen let out a wordless howl of outrage and attacked. Night had long since fallen by that point, and there was no light to reflect off their blades—no gleaming flashes to dazzle their eyes, just dull grey blurs in the murky interior of the shack.


To the side, Fuu struggled back to consciousness and forced open her eyes. They were fighting again! No matter how many times she reminded them of their promise not to, too. They ducked and wove and darted and rolled and slashed and hacked and sliced. And completely naked, no less.


At least it was far less disturbing than that whole sex thing from before. Men wanting to kill each other, she could understand. Men wanting to fuck each other… that was something that required a little more effort, and she was too tired from all the sex just then to spare it.


Fuu simply didn’t understand this need to prove who was the best. Wasn’t it acceptable for both of them to be good? This rivalry thing was just getting… old. Sighing, she lay limply back against the straw and watched them. Sometimes, she wondered at her own intelligence, taking these two on as her assistants in her quest for the sunflower samurai. Sure, they were amazing fighters, but still… their personalities were the pits.


At least they were pretty.


Very pretty, she amended as Mugen executed one of his athletic flips and bounded off a wall, making the rickety shack quake alarmingly. He rushed at Jin, slamming him back into another wall, and the shack wobbled again. Fuu sighed once more, and began to dress.


When her obi was tied in a neat bow, she turned to the fighting men. “I’m going outside,” she addressed them loudly, “before you make the place collapse on me.” Unsurprisingly, they ignored her, and the sound of metal striking metal rang throughout the small confines of the shack.


Which promptly gave up its tenuous hold on structure almost as soon as Fuu stepped from it.


From the rubble could be seen one long brown leg from the knee down, and a few feet away, a pale arm lifting a katana free of any possibility of damage from the debris.


“That… was your fault,” accused a calm voice.


Silence. Then,


“No, that was you!”


And Fuu just sighed again.




~ T H E  E N D ~