Author: Kiarene
Pairings: Vegeta/Mirai
Disclaimer: Don’t own DBZ
Published: 25th March 2004
Archive? Please ask first
Warnings Incest. Unbeta-ed.
7th Scrawling
Itching, sweating,
buzzing like a thousand tiny bees under his skin--
I give another
involuntary shudder, a little ripple that shimmies from the base of my skull
right down to my cock. What the fuck is *wrong* with me?
Steals another look
at Dad under the pretext of wiping the sweat from my brow, but my glance
lingers--
And see Dad looking
back at me, a faint annoyed expression on his face and I realize I don't care.
I don't care that I'm caught staring, that we're supposedly in the middle of a
training session, that this would only piss Dad yet further on top of all the
shit so far — I stare back hungrily, abandoning any pretense that I'm all
right. That I'm not falling apart inside. That I'm not wanting, that I *need*
him.
"Trunks, if
you can't concentrate..." Dad starts to turn away, frowning.
The whine of the
gravity winds down but the thrumming in my ears doesn't; it increases until I
can't hear anything else but Dad. The muffled tapping click of his boots, his
even breathing. I swear I can practically hear the thudding of his hearbeat… or
is that mine?
The door slides
open and cool night air wafts in, clearing the humid, sweat-laden air in the
training room and I gives another shudder. Hot, I still feels hot. Burning,
sweating. Can't think of anything but—
—touching him.
Stopping Dad from leaving, holding him close, next to my skin.
"Trunks! Let
me go." Calm, deadly voice.
I shake my head.
The world tilts and stretches into seriously bad geometry.
A pause. Then,
quietly, carefully, "Trunks?"
I ignore the
question. Concentrate instead on what's really important, like licking a wet
stripe from side of Dad's lips and under the curve of sharp cheekbone to ear.
Shallow intake of
breath, almost a gasp. This close, I can see Dad's nostrils flare as he sniffs
hard, rapidly. Could feel him tense. Just had to lick him again.
“Stop it Trunks. I
mean it — I don’t wish to hurt you—“
I decide that Dad
talks too much, but my hands were both occupied so I lean in and cover his
mouth with mine. And Dad's mouth was still open so my tongue just slips in,
like coming home, and god. Slick and searing and easy. Felt so right, so
necessary. Like breathing.
But it’s not nearly
enough. Something’s missing… *wrong*. My hands tighten and I press closer,
squashing Dad against the wall in my attempt to achieve full skin contact. I’m
shaking, panting hard and my tail is out of control behind me. Spraying the air
liberally with musky phermones and I realize that Dad’s not unaffected. His
errection presses hard against my abdomen, stiff and hot, and a needy whine
builds up at the back of my throat.
Dad makes a muffled
noise of protest and tries to push me away, closing his mouth and jerking his
head to the side with a probably painful twist. Abruptly bereft of that gorgeously
hot mouth, I follow like iron to a magnet and press my lips to his again, but
he refuses me.
“I know it’s
overwhelming. It’s just a physical reaction—“
I writhe, hearing
him but not listening. His words just washes over me. Burning. I’m burning, moaning.
My heart’s jumping like it wants to break out of my chest.
“—just hormones
you’ve never learned to control because—“
My tenous control
snaps. “Please please, oh god I’m so—“
Dad stops
struggling, throwing an arm around me, crooning. My voice drops to a whimper,
slurring drunkenly. “So hot Dad…” His hand strokes my back and he just curls
around me. His touch is soothing and oh. Oh God. So good. I fold into him,
seeking comfort, wriggling into his arms as I used to when I was younger, eyes
tearing.
“Dad…”
Suddenly, I’m torn
away and flung backwards. Too stunned to react, I land clumsily.
Mirai.
My lips twist,
baring teeth. He snarls at me like a rabid dog and I stand up, growling my own
challenge. His eyes are wild, his golden hair snapping in a static cloud around
his head.
“Mine.”
All I hear is the
pounding of blood, the call of instinctive challenge. We’ve been skirting
around this for days, but hell, for me it has been *years*. I will not wait no
longer. Suddenly, everything falls into place — why I’ve been baiting him for
days, why I had been acting like a bitch in head. Why this all just feels
right, like I *know* what to do next.
My smirk is ugly
and confident. “If you’re Saiyajin enough to keep him.”
“You arrogant
brat!” A fist slams into my stomach and
I barely manage to catch the other. An inaudible click, our eyes clashing for a
second. And the battle begins in earnest.
My blood sings. I
was never Mirai’s equal before in battle — he is almost two decades older than
me — but tonight, I feel like I might just win this.
Hormones like the
highest grade octane are thrumming through my veins and I’ve never felt so
*smooth*. Not power or strength exactly, but that feeling where your body is
working just right. It's like being high, but better. Loads better. I remember
experimenting when I was younger, moving from beer to hard liquor, then to
various little pills, white and blue and all deceptively cute colours of the
rainbow. Even as a half-Saiyajin, drugs couldn't really affect me, not
strongly. Any of the so-called 'highs' I've heard about was transient and
disappointing for me.
Humans and
Saiyajins are really wired differently.
The fight
continues. Mirai isn’t holding back at all and I realize that I’m no longer
looking at a weary time-traveller or some older doppleganger of myself, but the
battle-hardened soldier Dad speaks of. I should feel worried, but I’m not.
Still high on the power that’s humming beneath my skin, I don’t feel pain or
fear, and I fight on, taking hit after hit and occasionally scoring a good one
in.
A well-timed kick
crushes my left arm against my side and I hear a sickening crack. I look down
in surprise and bad, bad move. He kicks me hard and I hit a wall, plaster
crumbling around me.
"Enough,
Mirai." Dad steps foward, a frown on his face.
"No," I
wheeze out, swaying slightly before my equilibrium recovers. The fight
*consumes* me and I know we won’t stop till one of us is physically incapable
of getting up.
"Not nearly
enough." His eyes are hard, his tone low. I've never seen him like this
before and I smirk. Finally he's showing some Saiyajin mettle.
“Concede, Trunks.”
Dad says, a hint of worry in his tone.
“No.” I cannot.
“Mirai…” Dad’s
frown deepens. “This is needless.”
Mirai shook his
head, eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t think so. I think we *need* this. We’ve
been needing it for a very long time.”
"Come on
then," I taunt as I float upwards, tail swinging. I don't feel the pain
from my broken arm.
He doesn't hold
back. Ruthless, like he means to really kill. I should be terrified, but I
think that part of my brain has shut off. All I can focus on now is fighting
and my opponent.
I'm fighting like I
had never fought before, but I'm losing. Beaten back, bit by bit. Muscles screaming, skin slick with sweat and
blood. Both arms are useless now, cradled close to my body as I stumble
clumsily to avoid his blows. And he draws it out, eyes feral and bared teeth
blood-stained from a cut lip, as he pummels into me.
"Vegeta is
mine."
"Mine, mine,
mine," he chants, eyes glinting.
Starting to feel
the pain now. Everywhere, god, oh crap, it hurts. Don't have the energy to
retort — it's all I can do to keep breathing. To keep my eyes open.
And then.
It starts to sink
in. I've lost. Lost Vegeta. I blink, eyes and throat suddenly hot, and I want
to curl up. My movement falters.
Lost. I've lost.
My vision blurs
into a streak of red and I give in, closing my eyes. Suddenly so tired. We're
not fighting now. When did we stop? Mirai drives in fist after fist, his voice
a drone in the background that I'm not listening to.
"...mine...
don't you ever.... leaving... mine....dare to touch him..."
Instinctively, my
arms have curled more tightly around my middle in a protective gesture, but
then, it doesn't matter now. I don't care.
“Stop!” I
instintively turn towards Dad’s furious voice. Loud thwacks tell me that he’s
blocking Mirai’s fists.
I. Lost.
"Stop it
Mirai! Now." I don’t think I ever heard Dad so angry before. My eyes are
still closed but I can feel him next to me as he pulls Mirai off roughly and
gathers me up gently.
*Lost.*
And that... Hurts.
Hurts more than anything else right now. Makes the agony in my arms and ribs
seem like a paper cut.
Makes the numb
blackness that claims me a relief.
~*~
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