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The Internet was not created for children, and I see no reason to hand it to them now |
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"No." "Please..."
Yamcha was openly begging now. The argument had raged nearly an hour, he was
dying inside. He had to...he needed to...It clawed at him, deep inside,
steel-tipped talons shredding him apart from the inside. Addicted, but what a
sweet addiction. "please.
the last time, i swear, please, pu'ar, please..i need..." he was crumpled
on the couch now, one hand supporting his head, the other bunched in the
brightly patterned throw on the seat, twisting and turning, a mirror to the
motion of his own guts as he writhed in pain. "Please..." Blue
ears flopped as Pu'ar's head shook in denial...then melted into a sigh of
resignation as the changeling began to morph. Yamcha
kept his head bowed, eyes closed as the change took place, not wanting to
shatter the fantasy. A soft grunt let him know, and he looked up, eyes clouding
over at the vision. "Oh
Kami...." It
was an illusion, he knew. Vegeta and Bulma...he could never...He could never
have that. Never be a part of that heart. That heart that belonged to someone
else. But
here... In
his dreams... In
this illusion... The
figure snorted and shook its hair out, the mimicry so perfect, so exact it stole
his breath as the other man took off his battered tank top and tossed it aside. Like
a supplicant at the altar, he approached. Softly, hesitantly, almost
worshipfully, creeping forwards, starving eyes drinking in the sight. Shaking
hands reaching out to touch, caress...and when they made contact... His
eyes closed again in sheer joy. He could never have this. He knew that. But
here...in this dream...just to touch...to hold...he would sell his soul a
thousand times over just for this moment in time. Hungry
fingertips skirted delicately over the warm, muscled skin. So strong.
Sculptured...he'd never been a poet, but those words fit so well. Like liquid
steel encased in silk. He
pressed lightly, and watched the skin dimple oh-so-briefly, then fill out with
the rush of blood from a warm, living breathing body. He ached, deep inside,
deep in his belly, so deep it hurt, it stole his life force and left him shaking
with the sheer force. Those arms
lifted in invitation and he melted into them, a sigh of pleasure breaking from
his throat. He
felt the arms wrap gently around him and moulded his body to the other mans,
feeling warm breath gust against his cheek. So warm...so safe... he let
his knees buckle and rubbed his cheek lovingly against the muscled chest. He
could have stayed like that forever. But
time was running short. Soon the mirror would crack. Turning
his head, he pressed a thousand tender kisses to the corded muscle of the other
man's neck, tasting him, testing him, every motion speaking a thousand words his
tongue never could, tied and twisted until it tripped over itself, blurting some
inane, pointless, smartarse comment, just to feel those black eyes settle on
him, just for a moment, even with contempt or scorn reflected in their depths. His
hands slid down, entwining with white-gloved counterparts as he sank to is knees
before his god, looking upwards, eyes taking
in every inch, memorising, burning it deep into his brain for the last time,
this was the last time, he'd promised, oh he'd promised... He
kissed his way across the other man's torso, softly, lovingly, every mark, every
plane etched deep in his mind. That feeling swept over him again and he rested
his forehead against the figures stomach, eyes closed, chest heaving as it
overwhelmed him. This longing. This love. His
hands gently circled the slim waist, tugging slowly at the waistband of the
faced blue sweatpants A
startled gasp of breath. "no.." "Please.."
he whispered gently, eyes still closed, back straining against this oh-so-sweet
pain. "Please...one last time...please..." He stroked gently at the
bulge in the pants before him, and a convulsive buck let him know to proceed. The
pants whispered down muscled thighs and he kissed them tenderly, worshipfully,
before taking the prize into his mouth. Oh
Kami! so sweet, so bitter, just as his dreams, the warm heat, the perfect body
sliding under his palms as he moaned in pleasure.
Oh kami, so close..he was so close... ...Vegeta... And
then it came. Crashing
over him, tumbling him helplessly in his wake, like a leaf under a wave, jerking
his body and sending him crashing and spent on the floor. He clung to it, hands
flat against the smooth wood, fingers clawing at it for some purchase, some hold
to coherence as fantasy met reality, shattering apart into a million fragments
and hazing to white. Clinging to this feeling, this fantasy, even as it slipped
through his fingers, just for a little longer, please oh dear sweet Kami
please let me hold it please... A
soft whooshing noise made him look up as Pu'ar reverted to its preferred form,
long blue tail fluffing in indignation. "Yamcha...this has to stop. Now.
Promise me you'll stop doing this to yourself, please. It's not right. It's not
good for you. Never again." Yamcha
nodded humbly. "Never again. I promise." It
was a promise he knew he could never keep.
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All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
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