Chapter Text
Mujin's shoulders ache as he climbs the stairs. The long day has ground him down, and all he wants is the feel of his mattress and the silence of his own room.
He passes your door on the way—only to stop cold when a faint sound slips through the crack.
A soft moan. Then another. Then his name, whispered feverishly.
His pulse sharpens. For a moment, he stands frozen, torn between turning away and the unsettling thought that maybe you're having a nightmare, dreaming badly of him.
Your father—his top lieutenant—is out on an assignment and you're staying over at the manor not just for your own safety. Your passive presence in the organization has been an integral part of your father's loyalty—as long as Mujin keeps you safe and comfortable, your father can give his all to making the show run smoothly.
So you are his responsibility right now... He can't let you stay in distress, especially not over him. That is the excuse he repeats to himself as his hand finds the doorknob.
The hinges give, and the room opens into warm lamplight. You're not asleep. And you're very much not in distress.
You are spread across the sheets, splayed open as if for him to see. Flushed and glowing, fingers playing with your clit, the other hand softly torturing your nipple. Eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising in sharp little gasps.
And then it's there again—his name, sighing off your tongue like a plea.
Something inside him softly explodes.
He should leave. Bury the image, and never speak of it again. You're not aware of him yet, it would be as if nothing has happened. Except his mind forever torturing him with bittersweet what-ifs.
Feeling a little drunk on the rush you just gave him, he steps inside and closes the door quietly behind him. There's a half-formed excuse floating in his skull, but he can't tell what it is. He just needs to be here, near you.
The air seems heavier now, thick with your scent, your heat. He crosses to the bed and sinks down at the edge, close enough that his presence brushes against your distracted awareness.
You startle only when his fingertips graze your ankle. Your eyes fly open, panic flashing—then dimming into something darker when you see who it is. Mujin catches the shift, the way your body tenses and then loosens. You're horny and needy and he's right here, the sinfully hot object of your forbidden fantasy.
A smirk touches his mouth. He doesn't take his hand off you. Low, in that raspy voice that's been pooling pressure in your lower belly for years, he tells you:
"Go on."
And so you do. Trembling and more desperate now, both his presence and permission making you wild with want.
"Dad will be furious if he finds out," you breathe even as your mind is already slipping.
Mujin's eyes close for a moment, imagining the disaster. But you're so tempting, so open and willing, and he's in too deep now. He can't bring himself to find anything wrong with lending you a hand in your lonely struggle.
"What sort of friend would I be," he rasps, fingers caressing your toes, "if I didn't help you fulfill your needs when you rely on me?"
You whine softly. His words are so innocent, his tone full of dark promises. It tightens the knot in your belly to the point of discomfort. You need him.
He leans back, taking in every twitch of your body, every gasp. His palms slowly trace a line along your shin, up your calf, over the soft skin of your thigh. Each pass draws him closer until his touch hovers dangerously near your core.
At last, he presses his fingers against your slick skin, gathering your wetness. The heat of it pulls a rough breath from him.
When he gently pushes inside, your cry hits him like a punch. You're all heat and velvet to the touch and his mind is getting hazy with his own desire. This is dangerous and he knows it—but right now it just gives him a high he's never experienced outside of winning a fight for his life.
He bends forward, lips brushing your knee, then your thigh, tickling you with his neat short beard. Pressing the softest of kisses against your skin, he enjoys how each sends a new shiver through your body, making you moan louder.
His mouth trails lower, and lower, until he stops, breathing deep against your scent. His eyes squeeze shut; his jaw tightens, as though he's battling himself with everything he has not to taste you. His self-restraint is so close to shattering before he pulls himself back together, focusing only on your pleasure again.
His hand never stops, not even when his mind weakens. Steady and deliberate, decades of experience driving his every move. His bewitching eyes are locked on yours, catching the littlest of your reactions until your body gives way. Until your cry breaks into a sharp, urgent call of his name—and you shatter against his fingers.
You've never experienced an orgasm as strong as this. All your limbs spasm, your vision sparkles, your breath catches as if it's been knocked out of you. And then—to your shock and Mujin's utter delight—you sprinkle his hand and half his sleeve, drawing a low chuckle out of him.
Your head falls back, any coherent thought drained as much as your strength. It's quiet for a while, filled only by your ragged breathing. By the time you blink through the thick haze of release and lift your head to look at Mujin, he is already standing. Already turning away.
"Wait—" your voice is weak, pleading. You've just had your wet dream come true and you want more. More of this, more of him.
He pauses at the door, his back rigid. Then he glances over his shoulder, face shadowed, voice softer than you have ever heard it.
"It's late. You should sleep."
And then he is gone, leaving you alone with your confused thoughts and feelings.
Outside of your room, he curses himself under his breath. He's just made a delicious, but potentially disastrous mistake.
Your father once told him that anything of his was Mujin's. Granted, it happened in a moment of weakness, but he proved it plenty since then. The one thing Mujin is sure of—he meant anything but his daughter. If he learns Mujin has touched you, there will be no telling where the damage would end.
He sighs heavily, exhaustion creeping back into his muscles as soon as the excitement drains.
Hopefully you're too smart—or embarrassed—to tell anyone. Hopefully, Mujin has enough sense to stay away from you from now on.
His hand is still wet from you. As he slowly steps towards his own bedroom, he licks his fingers, groaning softly. The uprising in his pants twitches back to life with the taste, almost making him turn around and go back to you for more.
It's time he had his own private moment. Once again fantasizing about you.