[ Himitsu ]
folder
Dragon Ball Z › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
5,768
Reviews:
95
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Dragon Ball Z › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
5,768
Reviews:
95
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
[Chapter .16]
Himitsu
Author: Rena "Sama" / 'the light'
Contact: soaringshadow@yahoo.com
Date Posted: 3-1-06
Rated: NC-17
Warnings: kink, fetish, very lemony, het, yaoi, steamy, language. Enjoy ^^
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just using the characters for my own amusement. So don't sue!
| ...words... | denotes thought.
Notes: This fic is inspired by some artwork I'd done recenly, "Sunset Kink" There
is actually a lot of story behind that pic that you may, or may not have picked up on.
So here it is.
[ Chapter .16 ]
harshly. His legs bent at the knees and spread as he supports his upper body with his arms behind him.
What's left of his erection is surrounded by stained blue fabric. Stained from both sides. My flesh
hardens and stands straight up from me as I lie on my back and look at him. Watch him come down from
the height of sexual satisfaction. Sweat drips down his face. His chest heaves, his cheeks are flushed.
I desperately try to think of something other than the feel of his skin against mine, his taste at the
back of my throat, the tempting flesh that begs his mouth for attention. The warmth of his body and
the color or his eyes are so easy to yearn for.
then looks at his hand and the seed that covers it in disbelief. He stares down at himself, then
between my legs. His gaze pricks my skin for just a moment before he shakily gets to his feet.
Staggering a few steps, he tries to catch his breath. He stands still only long enough to pull up his
tattered pants.
to hold me for very long. The wind howls past my ears as I stand in the snow and the darkness
alone. Soon, realization comes crashing down.
entire night's events are somehow written across my sweaty forehead. My clothes are torn. My face is
flushed. My skin covered in traces of semen that do not belong to me. I reek of sex. Even when I
didn't quite have any.
yearning for the taste of his lips, for his voice in my ears, for hands on my skin again, is accompanied
by unimaginable guilt. No matter how achingly good it feels, it's wrong. My heart sinks in time with the
insistent throbbing below my waist.
different. I don't look very different. But when I look at my hands, the same hands that touched him,
worshiped him only minutes ago, they don't feel like mine anymore. I know cheating is wrong. I know it's
horrible. I know I would be hurt if Chichi had done this to me. But for the life of me I couldn't stop myself.
I didn't want to. How could someone feel so many conflicting emotions, be pulled in so many different and
strange directions?
Bejiita to warm me. My once finely made clothes just barely clinging to me. As the wind rushes through my
rags I wonder if I might die.
[ ..... ]
they're well. If Bulma is all right. Or where Bejiita has gone to. Or where I'm going. Nor why I
can't stop trembling. Is it really so cold now ...without him?
need it for support. My legs are still so weak. Clumsy hands smear water and small traces of
blood on the walls as I hold my wounded shoulder. My bloodied rags looking worse in the light.
making me flinch horribly. I didn't even sense him. I was so utterly unaware of his presence. I stare
at him wide eyed, completely caught off guard. Again. The heat bubbles to my face. A wave of
shame hits me. Of all the things I'd hidden from him, from them, from even myself, his simple
question somehow made it all seem infinitely worse. Suddenly, I can't even look at him. I'm
already assuming he knows everything. Like he could see right through me. The classic sign of
a guilty conscience.
My hand wrapping tightly around my hurt shoulder, re-opening the wound . Blood seeps between
my fingers and down my arm. I barely notice.
a face that said it all if you knew how to look.
pounds in my chest as blood rushes past my ears.
and somehow find my way to the bathroom.
[ ..... ]
run over me. Letting it heat my skin to an insane degree. Suddenly I couldn't stand any temperature
lower than boiling. I lean against the tiled wall, absently lathering up a sponge. I try to think
of nothing.
Where he touched me. I shiver when my fingers brush over the mark he left.
and pretend this was all some drunken hallucination. A horny little dream just like all my others.
But it wasn't. Marks or no, I would always remember. Because even now he is here. I can smell
him in the thick air. I can taste him at the back of my throat. I can still feel the fleeting, blissful
agony of his touch. I begin to panic. I panic and I scrub. Scrub hard everywhere I can reach. My skin
turns rosy from the constant friction and hot water. I soap up my hair and wash the suds from my body.
But he remains. No matter how hard I push the sponge against my skin or how many times I wash my hair
or brushed my teeth, he remains. Even from this one... encounter, he'd permeated my every pore. He'd gotten
under my skin so that he could not be washed away, could not be forgotten.
my skin were all my own version of the scarlet letter. Ironically one of Chichi's favorite books.
will remind me of him.
sound of nothingness. The crickets outside do not chirp. The wind does not howl. The water doesn’t even
bother to break the silence by dripping onto the tub. I'm left completely alone with myself and my
own thoughts.
I don't wonder how I'm gonna explain to Goten what happened to me. Or why I've come home in such
a mess at some ungodly hour. Nor do I lie and tell myself it was all just a momentary lapse in judgment.
[ ..... ]
feeling of numbness. The volume on my life has been turned down. Everything seems far away.
I threw mine away as fast as I could. She puts her hand on my shoulder to steady herself from her
hangover as she walks by. I wince and almost shrug her hand off. It felt cold. Very cold. It almost
hurt. Why?...
at the table. He pulls his chair in noisily.
dead give away that something is wrong. If she weren't half drunk, she'd think I was dying.
kind face. It hurt me to look at her. I had no idea guilt could feel so crushing. We didn't even have sex! But
it really doesn't even matter. Because even now I wondered if I'd get the chance to do it again. Cheating
is cheating after all.
I visibly flinch this time but manage to squelch the urge to slap her hand away. What's wrong with me?!
[ ..... ]
But she does it anyway. For me.
insists on performing what she believes are her 'duties' as mother and wife. I know she has her rough spots,
but there are times when she's so good to me I feel I don't deserve her. Maybe it's just the guilty conscience
talking. Maybe it’s just a way to remind myself of who it is I've been hurting all this time.
[ ..... ]
Practically cooking myself Chichi always says.
I belonged when submerged. Truly in my element. Even now, at such a tumultuous time in my life, it manages
to be a salve for the pains I feel. The smallest shred of ease and relief it give me is cherished and enjoyed.
long ago as I looked through the same cluster of branches. Back when green leaves adorned them and warm,
balmy air blew past them, rustling my hair as it went. It was late last summer, when I thought of Bulma and Bejiita
every time I closed my eyes. When they'd came to me in dreams, whispering promises of pleasure only they
could give. When I lacked true outlets for what I needed. What I wanted. Before I failed. Those days
were actually easier. Because now that I'd found an outlet, of course, it made things worse. But I'm sure
you knew that already.
I hear someone breathing. The sound of snow being crushed under feet gets louder and louder.
nor with the intent of having a 'good time' with me. I feel guilt for even wishing he had.
front of my tub, looming menacingly over me. He comes here full of rage and pride. He looks down at me over
his nose in disdain. I pissed him off simply by existing. His dark eyes burning on me. Betraying him without his
knowledge. His eyebrows scrunch as he talks at me rather than to me.
neck. My fingers already winding into his hair. I'm alarmed by my own speed and reaction to him. At my inability
to go five seconds without touching him. As is he. Bejiita's eyes are wide and enraged. He breathes rapidly.
His face reddens as he tries not to push his tongue against mine. He punches at my ribs frantically,
breathing hard through his nose. Then he just digs his fingers into the skin on my chest. His hands strain
against me as he works to push himself away.
rumble in his chest and I tremble. Why is even his anger so exciting? I grew hard the instant I saw him.
His eyebrows separate as his eyes begin to roll to the back of his head. I think we are the only people
who kiss with their eyes open. There's a wet, slurping sound in my ears, and the voice in my head that used
to scream 'NO!' 'This is wrong!' or 'Stop!' gets smaller and smaller.
opportunity to fail my wife. Giving himself another opportunity to fail both Bulma and himself.
vain to escape from
what he wants. He's a sin I've committed one too many times before to be able to give
him up for good. Yet
the real tragedy is the miniscule bit of space between our bodies where the air dares
to seep through. I lunge
forward in the tub. Hot water sloshes over the sides of the wooden rim as I hold him
against me tightly. My
arm wraps around his waist then slides down to the small of his back. Then lower still.
"Onhm!!" My fingers
glide over whatever I can reach. Absorbing his heat through his clothes. He gives me the warmth I'd already
grown addicted to. He grasps the sides of my face, finally kissing me back in earnest. I worship him with my
mouth. Winding my tongue around his shows just how sorry I really am. He runs his hands up through my hair,
down to the nape of my neck and back again. Goosebumps break out over my skin. I quake with desire. We share
a slow, hard, excruciatingly needy kiss. A kiss where we don't even bother to stop and breathe. Spending what
little air we have just to moan.
stand being without his smell or taste for very long. My bare chest rises and falls haphazardly with my ragged
breathing as we finally part. My head swims as I try to memorize every line of his face.
against his. Our noses not even an inch or so apart. We just stare into each others troubled eyes. All I can
hear is his breathing. After a few moments his face then takes on a look of absolute panic and I wonder if
we've been found out.
daylight. There's no cloak of darkness or sheen of pale moonlight to make him think this is all just a dream. His
face goes crimson again as if he were somehow startled by my nudity. Like he hadn't seen me naked before.
Whether I had clothes on or not. My face heats up as well. He continues to stare at me as I walk towards him,
completely uncaring about the cold and my lack of clothes. My bare feet crunch against the soft snow. Just
before I reach out to put a hand on his shoulder, he smacks it away again, then looks at the ground to his left.
forcing themselves out of his mouth.
feel before it drives him insane or kills him?
him close to me again. My erection resting against his stomach. His against my leg.
I bet he meant that to hurt. But of course it didn't. I finally let go of him sadly. He looks at the hand that
punched me angrily. Then his gaze shifts out to the endless expense of white, at the trees, everywhere that
wasn't occupied by my naked, aroused body.
away. He walks. Slowly. Like he didn't really want to leave at all.
Continued.