Business as Usual, XV
by Laura Bryannan

Jin didn't blink. Mugen couldn't believe it. You tell a guy you've killed someone and you expect a look of horror, or at least surprise. Instead, Jin's compassionate expression was enough to break his heart. “How did it happen?” he asked quietly.

“Um....” Mugen closed his eyes and tried to think of how to say it. “When I was sixteen my gang got wind I was splitting. Of course, it wasn't me they wanted so much as the money I was passing around, stupid show-off that I was. They lured me in with pussy and a bunch of guys worked me over pretty good. I'll spare you the gory details, but they were methodical and it hurt a lot. Gave me some new scars. Spit-roasted me forever. I was more scared than I've ever been.

“Finally they got hungry and took off. No one was standing guard, so while they were gone I managed to get one hand free and untie myself. When they came back I started fighting. I let loose until the world went dark and woke up in the hospital, shot in the back. My parole officer told me I put five guys in there with me. The only problem was, one didn't make it. I kicked him into something and his head hit wrong, I guess. He never came to. I didn't even know the fucker and he was there doing that shit to me....” He sighed and shook his head.

“Anyway, I went to prison for six months even though I was underage. When you got a rap sheet as long as I do, I guess no one cares about shit like self-defense. Enough of the gang lied in court about what happened that I got screwed.”

Before Mugen chanced a peek, Jin was on the couch, scooping him into his lap like he was five years old. His pride screamed in protest, but the wounds inside still ached and yearned for comfort, so he instinctively let himself receive it.

“Oh Mugen, I'm so sorry,” Jin whispered, pulling him to his chest. “I can't even imagine how horrifying that must have been for you.”

Strong arms held him close. Was it really going to be this easy? He wasn't going to be pushed away? It seemed unbelievable. He snuggled his face into the pale neck, breathing a deep sigh of relief as unknown and forgotten hurt places received the balm of Jin's acceptance. He felt safe...perhaps...maybe even good. He wasn't sure. Sheltered in the familiar embrace, he realized that Jin had been the first person to protect him from anything, ever, when he'd chased Mukuro off last week.

“So, you don't think I'm awful?” Mugen finally asked.

“For defending yourself against a gang assault? Hardly!” Jin told him sincerely. “I got attacked a lot, growing up. I was chronically shy and strange and.... Who knows why children scapegoat each other? A handful of times I got hurt when there were too many and I couldn't fight them all off, but I was never subject to outright torture.”

“Yeah, well, at least I walked away with everything intact,” Mugen replied. “A few new holes, but no parts missing. The way they were talking....” He shuddered. “Ah man, enough of that shit.”

“Yes,” Jin agreed, pulling off his suit coat and tie. “Let's find something else to do.”

Mugen lay back, feeling incredulous his lover was still looking at him like he was something tasty, even after learning the worst. Jin leaned near and nuzzled his face, warm lips tracing his brow, his eyelid, tickling his lashes...trailing down to nibble his neck, biting harder at the shoulder until he grunted in acknowledgment.

Unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his belt, Jin lay his head on his belly, wrapped his arms around his waist and got quiet. Mugen went there with him, feeling such profound comfort that every tight place—every overwound spring and knotted wire inside—let go a few notches and he relaxed, possibly for the first time in his life.

The sweet security of Jin's weight, plus three beers and only a few bites of lunch, insured Mugen's nap. Somewhere later in a dream there was beautiful music, and angels rang golden chimes announcing the glorious scent of food. His stomach grumbled and he roused, opening his eyes to see Jin eating out of a Chinese food container.

“Did the doorbell ring?” he asked groggily.

“Yes, that's how dinner arrived.”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“A little over an hour.”

“Sorry. Uh...what the hell is that music? I thought it was a dream. You bring a CD over?”

“It's Beethoven's Pastoral,” Jin informed him. “I found it in your collection.”

“No way,” Mugen exclaimed. “I never bought it, someone must'a left it here. I thought Beethoven did that dun dun dun dunnnnnn thing.”

Jin smiled and winced at the same time. “That's his fifth symphony. This is his sixth.”

“Wasn't he in Clockwork Orange?”

“Yes.” Jin sighed. “His ninth symphony.”

“That stuff's kickass.”

Jin brightened. “I agree. It's my favorite as well.”

Mugen was handed the beef and broccoli and he happily dug in, considering his stomach was feeling wonky and eating helped settle it. But then recent revelations came to mind and his blood ran cold. He eyed Jin who appeared content, listening with his eyes closed and eating in the annoyingly thoughtful way he always did. Everything seemed normal. It was too weird.

One thing was certain, though. He needed to get laid. Jin had given him that part of his life back, and that part really needed reassurance this evening. So when they finished their meal and Jin asked to be taken, Mugen refused.

“No?!?”

“No!” he replied. “I want you to fuck me. You're the first guy I've let in since that night, and I want you to do me tonight...especially tonight.”

“But after what you told me, I thought....”

“Look,” Mugen interrupted, “what happened put me off my natural leanings for years, but I like getting laid. Always have. Pussy is great, but I need what men bring to the game too.”

Jin arched a brow as he pulled off Mugen's slacks and boxers. “You can purchase such things for women.”

Mugen snorted. “I ain't met a gal yet I'd let come near me with a strap-on.”

Dry chuckle. “You're very wise."

Mugen watched in appreciation as Jin pulled his t-shirt off, then stood to remove his jeans. Why was such a beautiful creature interested in him? Jin's height was enviable, his face breathtaking and his sculpted body was as perfect as a statue—except for the sword scar, in the same place as his own gunshot wound. And then there was Mugen's sign inked on his ass. What the hell did that mean? The whole thing was too damn weird.

“It doesn't freak you out that I killed a guy?” He had to know.

“It doesn't freak you out that I killed a guy?” Jin asked in reply.

“Well, you had a good reason.”

“As did you.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing. Well, c'mere. Lemmie taste you before you do it, K?”

“Mmmm. Please.”


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Jin escaped.

Kissing his copy of Beethoven's 9th, Solti conducting, he put the disc in the player. Grabbing his headphones, he retreated to his bed and for the first two movements did nothing but listen.

Only later did he allow himself to think about the day, working backward. He'd left Mugen on the couch, where he'd passed out again after being fucked senseless. They'd never made it to the bedroom. Finding no extra blanket in the linen closet, Jin had covered him with a beach towel and gone home.

It felt wonderful to walk into his apartment, turn his cell phone off and know there was nothing he needed to do, no one he needed to speak to until tomorrow morning at work. The music felt balancing, uplifting even, and he was happy that Mugen had jogged his memory about it. He hadn't listened to the 9th in a long time.

Mugen. His guts were in knots over what Mugen had said. Two words haunted his awareness, sickening yet arousing him, to his absolute horror. Spit roast. He knew with certainty the experience had been terrible for Mugen, not erotic, but when he'd heard the words his body responded of its own accord. Unable to keep them from echoing in his mind, he felt immense guilt as torturous random images plagued and grieved him.

And perhaps that was the problem as well. Mugen's story broke his heart and he felt helpless in the face of it. Suddenly an awareness dawned so startling, he gasped and sat up. He was no longer the most tragic person in the room! He had never known anyone who's background was harsher than his own, and it felt...he wasn't sure how it felt.

Strange. There was a sense of loss, as though Mugen had beaten him in a competition he hadn't known he'd been in, but also relief. Of course there were lots of people out there with heartbreaking stories, Jin just hadn't met one before now. He wondered about Mugen's childhood, whether there were paralell horrors to his own he hadn't considered. Mugen never spoke of siblings or parents. The entire matter was disconcerting, for it tugged on his emotions and deepened an out of control lust into something far more dangerous.

Taking Mugen this evening had been completely delicious. He'd wanted it from behind and Jin had obliged him, beginning with Mugen kneeling on the couch, draped over the back. Jin simply looked, appreciating the planes, angles and luscious curves of his lover's body until Mugen was grumbling and squirming. “Come on, man. Quit'cher staring and do something!”

“Patience, grasshopper. Do you want fingers first, or just me?”

“Mmmm. Just you's good.”

Yes, fucking Mugen was way too delicious, and while the carnal longings were exciting and enlivening, he didn't like how Mugen dominated his thoughts. Something was going to have to give. He was spending way too much time away from his life. Yuki would be at work tomorrow and he hoped things could get back to normal again.

The 4th movement washed over him. Why hadn't he studied German? Choral music always gave him goose bumps. He willed himself to listen and turn off the rest—to think about all that later. After all, tomorrow is another day, he chuckled to himself. He couldn't remember who'd said it first, nor did he care.


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Mugen woke in a rare mood, one he hadn't experienced in a long time. That he was alone on the couch barely registered. He got up, used the toilet and began to pace. When that brought no insight he sat on the edge of his bed, wrapped his arms around Nose and engaged in the closest thing he came to meditation. Eventually the answer revealed itself and he smiled. It was going to be a good day.

First things first. He was already late for work, so he phoned his secretary. “I'm not gonna be in today, Li-san.”

“Himself was asking for you yesterday afternoon,” she told him. “It's not going to look good if you're not here again.”

“I'll handle it,” he replied. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

He phoned Takeda Delivery and hit pay dirt when Yuki answered. “You want some company tonight, kiddo?” Yes indeed, Yuki assured him he did. Mugen promised to come over around seven.

Next was Kohza. He'd weaned her off the everyday calls, but still talked to her a few times a week, mostly to keep tabs on what the gang was up to. He never had to ask outright. She was such a gossip, she usually managed to spill something interesting all by herself. He asked her out to lunch and she said yes, so they planned to meet at noon.

Digging around his apartment, he found everything he needed, even the steel-toed boots he had to buy the summer he'd landed a job in an auto factory. They were a little snug, but fit well enough to suit his purposes. He dressed carefully but didn't shower, deciding his plans for the day required a certain amount of funk, and headed downtown.

Kohza came through. He'd already had his suspicions but she confirmed them, talking about how Tiger and Stump thought they were all that for taking a guy down the other night. They were mid-level fuck ups, decent fighters who'd been around forever but never had enough brains to gain any power or responsibility in the gang. He knew them both and where one of them lived. Good deal!

After he dropped Kohza back at her office, he decided to go bother his parole officer for a while, considering there was time to kill before he needed to set up his stake-out. The big, alcoholic, used-to-be-Jesuit took Mugen's case when he was eight, when he got arrested for robbing an apartment. And since his youthful misadventures insured continued contact over the years, he was the closest thing Mugen had to a father.

He'd shown the reckless, undisciplined boy the world of the Internet and, slowly but surely, that world won out over the one Mugen was born into.

You learn how to read and all this is yours,” he'd insisted, never letting up, and finally Mugen was free. And then, after Mugen's almost fatal encounter with the Nakasone gang, he'd brought the kid with the unearthly trading skills to the attention of the man who was mentoring him now—the senior partner/owner of the venture capital firm Mugen worked for.

Mugen sauntered into the teen center where his PO kept his office. “What the fuck are you doing here? Your appointment's two weeks from now. Why aren't you at work?”

“There's something I gotta do.”

“I don't like the look in your eye, Mugen. When you look crazy like that bad things happen.”

“I'm gonna kick me some ass. If I get caught will it fuck up my parole?”

“Jesus Christ!” he bellowed, scowling. “In three months you're twenty-one and finally outta my hair. Why are you doing this kinda shit now?” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Get caught with a weapon and you're back on ice for sure. No weapon, it depends who's testifying, so make sure it's impossible. Now get the hell outta here! I can't be having this conversation with you.”

“OK, OK, I'm going.” Mugen smirked and headed toward the door.

“Hey, by the way, the new computers are great.” Mugen turned back as he spoke. “They got here last week. And those three games have been earning the center some money, so thanks a lot, Mugen.”

His patron smiled. “No prob, Bundai-sama.”

“Sama! Don't be a smartass. Now get the hell outta here!”

Mugen forced himself to eat something even though he was too wound up to have an appetite. Then he walked over to Stump's apartment building and scoped out a good place to settle in, hoping his instincts were correct. Something told him it was going to happen. There was a flow pushing him along and everything had fallen into place so far. It took an hour and a half, but they finally came out, Stump and Tiger too. It was his lucky day!

They took off down the street and Mugen stepped in behind, keeping a respectable distance. They were moving toward an alley, a good place, so Mugen tied a bandanna around his face, pulled his hood over his head, and struck. It didn't take long, considering he was unconcerned about hitting them from behind. There was no need for sportsmanlike behavior in this situation.

Boot to the head! he thought to himself, smiling evilly, as he did just that. Once unconscious, their ribs cracked loudly, a satisfying sound. Karma's a bitch, huh? One last look to make sure they weren't going anywhere and he took off.

He removed the gray hoodie he'd been wearing before exiting the alley and walked casually across the street. So far as he could tell, there'd been no witnesses. He felt exhilarated, the rush of adrenaline making him giddy. Yuki's place was four blocks away, but the walk wasn't long enough to burn off the fire inside him. He felt alive, powerful, ready to take on the universe. Yuki staggered backward a few paces when he opened his door, it was so intense.

“You're throwing off sparks,” Yuki observed, incredulous. “What's up with you?”

Mugen reached for him and Yuki noticed. “Fighting, eh?” He grabbed the hand, inspecting the swollen knuckles.

“Yeah,” Mugen admitted. “It's cool now. All taken care of.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Uh, you met 'em some enchanted evening, I think.”

“Really, Mugen?” Yuki whispered. “Did you really nail those guys?”

“Yep.”

“Wow! My knight in shining armor.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, you're such a dweeb. Don't say shit like that.”

Yuki had enough good sense to blush as he pulled Mugen inside. “Well, thank you anyway. It makes me feel better to know it.”

“Hey, speaking of better, you feeling OK enough to get laid?”

“I think so, if we're careful.”

“I can be careful...I think.”

to be continued