Jin doesn't like mirrors for fear that one day he'll look and find himself faded. But sometimes he likes seeing himself reflected in her eyes, which are large and dark and the only truly pretty thing about her.

"Come on, Jin," she's telling him now, tugging at his hand. There's childish impatience in her voice but he yields anyway because he likes her looking at him.

"Whipped," Mugen snickers behind them, following through with cruder remarks that dwindle to a low, annoying murmur as Jin leads the girl away. Fuu merely giggles, pulling him behind a tree that doesn't offer enough shelter and stripping the gi off his shoulders.

When they fuck it's hungry and rough, a strange canon of strangled sounds set to the counterpoint of Mugen's muttered complaints.

Each night, Jin convinces himself that it's not as sordid as it appears. Fuu is young and athletic; if she wants tenderness (or privacy), she has yet to let it show.

In a way, it's important that Mugen is close, a not-so-tacit witness. Otherwise Jin might be tempted to hold her afterwards, speak soft words into her small ear while she pants into his sweat-slick shoulder. He might want to stroke her hair and run his large hands down her back while he trails his lips down her smooth cheek.

He might want to tell her he loves her, even if he isn't quite sure how that actually feels.

As it is, he takes care not to stray too far away from the camp, takes care to be giving but not too gentle, wild but not too desperate.

"Jin," Fuu says, pulling him out of his musings. Her small hands are cupping his face (just as his larger ones are cupping her bare ass under the soft fall of her kimono).

"What is it?" he asks wearily. For some reason he is still in her (even though he usually pulls away as soon as he can without being overly rude), her legs are firmly locked around his waist, and they are both dripping on the forest floor.

It's thoroughly undignified, but he can't bring himself to care.

"What is it, Fuu?" he demands again, thinking that maybe she does. He has to admit that he's been asking himself lately how long this was going to last. She looks older now with her hair undone and spilling over one bare shoulder. Maybe she's grown too old to play with the wolf in the woods.

Fuu just smiles and kisses him softly. Her thumbs brush over his cheekbones as she drinks him in, or so it feels, and he hopes that the tight, coiled heat in his stomach is indigestion but rather fears it's something worse.

When she finally pulls away her cheeks are so flushed they glow, and her lips are still close enough that they brush his mouth as she speaks.

"Say, Jin... Can you do slow, too?"

He closes his eyes, leaning his head against the rough bark. Surprising as it is, there's really only one answer.

You only had to ask.

"Yes," he says slowly. "Yes."

He strokes her hair and kisses her cheek. She sighs into his shoulder.

Between her legs, he can feel himself hardening again.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Fuu murmurs, and kisses him again.

In the distance, Mugen is silent.