[DB][FanFic][Lemon/Yaoi] Nightfall
Katchan
For those of you who have read 'Matutinal Encounter', you will recall
Junanagou's ultimatum. This is a sort of sequel to ME, rounding out
fulfillment of the deal. I put the 'lemon' and 'yaoi' tags on there just
for the purists; there's nothing graphic in the story and to be honest, I
don't think it really even rates a full 'lemon' tag -- it's really got
little more than a twist of citrus; but I'd rather not listen to people
squawking about not being warned.
For the homophobes in the audience, 'yaoi' means 'You Ain't gOnna like It'.
For those of you who are left -- enjoy.
Katchan
*******
I had hardly dared hope he would return; but he has appeared once
more beside my fountain, his hair and the water both shimmering in the
starlight.
"Konban wa," I murmur, and he turns to look at me. I smile, land
lightly, walk slowly toward him, my sneakers making no sound. He watches
me, forcing a stern expression. I stop, looking into his eyes, reach up,
touch his cheek. "You came back," I state the obvious. "I assume you
recall our agreement?"
"I remember it," he replies, his voice tight. I hold his chin, lean
forward, tilt my head, kiss him tenderly.
"I'm glad," I tell him. "I've tried to think of ways to lure you
here, before now." He looks startled, and blinks. "Did you think I was
joking?" I wonder, pressing my body against his. "Did you think I said
what I did just to hear my own voice?" I laugh at his consternation. "If
that were the case, Trunks," I continue, hooking a finger over his
waistband, "I'm sure I could have said something vastly more
entertaining." He pulls away suddenly, freeing himself, spinning me so my
back is to the fountain.
"Trunks," I say softly, "you aren't about to renege on me, are you?"
I walk toward him; he backs up, swallowing. "It would be extremely unfair
of you to do so." He bumps against a fallen wall. I continue toward him,
stop when our bodies touch, plant my feet on either side of his, and kiss
him again, sliding my hands round his waist.
He does not run this time; and he finally returns my kiss. My hands
roam down over his rear, pull him hard against me, and I wish, for half a
moment, that he still had his tail. It could have proven -- interesting.
One hand slips around again, untucks his shirt, presses flat against
his belly, where still-forming ridges prove nevertheless rock-hard and
deliciously defined. My fingers walk up his body, and I smooth my palm
over his chest -- something I have longed to do since I first noticed what
a lovely boy he'd become.
I pull back, sucking on his lower lip, and look into his blue eyes,
dark now in the night and with unspoken feeling. "I've never -- " he
begins, and I shut him up with a quick kiss.
"I've been preserved in a tube for who knows how long," I remind him
humourously. "I don't know if I have or not." He doesn't find it
amusing.
I waste no time; the City is mostly deserted but there are scavengers
around and I want to risk no interruptions. I take him swiftly, thrilling
in the feel of his perfect body submitting beneath mine. I kiss the back
of his neck and bite his shoulder as my delight rises to climax, and he
makes only a small sound when I withdraw. I turn him to face me, kiss his
mouth, let my fingers wander down to pleasure him and he clings to me,
sobbing, as he comes in my hand.
We wash in the fountain afterward, dress quickly, sit together on the
ground, our backs against the fountain, the cherubim acting as fat
guardian angels over us, the only witnesses to our actions. He wraps his
arms around his knees and rests his forehead on them. I draw up my own
knees and sit silently enjoying the warm ache in my groin, and wish with
all my heart that I had more time to play with him.
"Are you crying?" I ask him finally. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," he replies roughly.
"Saa, look at me, then." He remains motionless for some time, then
slowly lifts his head and turns to face me. His eyes are wet. I watch
him a moment. He closes his eyes, new tears rolling down his face,
sparkling in the dim light from the stars. I lean forward, lift my hand,
brush my thumb across his cheek, wipe away the moisture. Pushing my hand
through his hair, I pull him toward me again and kiss him, hard.
He lifts a tentative hand, and his fingertips barely brush my arm.
"Why did you come here?" I ask against his lips.
"I don't know," he whispers, and lowers his head. "I don't know." I
lean forward, let my mouth touch his ear.
"Will you come back?" I whisper. He makes a strangled sound. I kiss
his ear. "Next time," I say, still whispering, "I'll find us a more
comfortable place to play."
He scrambles to his feet with a cry, and is gone before I can decide
on my reaction. When the sound of his footsteps has vanished, I get to my
own feet and begin to systematically search the City.
I wait more than a week before I sense his ki again, and I speed to
the fountain, land on top of it, just out of the water's spray, and wait
for him.
He looks up at me, his arms at his sides, his shoulders slumped, his
expression one of defeat. I tilt my head at him and smile. "Come with
me," I say, and he follows me to the place I have found.
This time I take my time and I take off every item of his clothing
with precision, savour his scent, his warmth, his trembling, and spend
hours touching and tasting and kissing him and taking intense pleasure in
every touch he so hesitantly returns. I rush nothing, want everything to
last as long as possible, and when finally I allow myself release I see
spots for several minutes and when my vision clears I take him in my mouth
and exult in his shuddering whimpers and his fingers in my hair.
He cries again, and I lie beside him and wait it out, wondering if I
would do the same, were I able to experience emotions. He curls up on his
side and I lean over him, tuck my arm around his middle, rest my chin on
his shoulder, look down into his face; he keeps his eyes closed and does
not speak. We stay like this until he falls asleep, and I lie next to him
until he wakes up, and then I roll him to his back and take him that way,
so I can watch him. This time he does not cry.
I help him dress, amused at the undertaking, though I keep my smiles
to myself; they disturb him, and I want nothing to spoil my mood.
Silently he turns to leave.
"The deal still stands," I remind him.
"I know," he says softly, and then he is gone.
He visits the fountain frequently. Each time I take him to the place
I have reserved for our pleasure. Each time, as he leaves, I remind him
of the deal, though I know it is unnecessary. I say it only to remind
myself of the fact that he has come willingly to me, every time.
"What are you waiting for?" I ask him one afternoon, tracing his
sternum with a forefinger.
"The time machine," he tells me softly. "I'm going back again."
"I won't let you," I tease. He closes his eyes. "It doesn't matter
anyway," I point out. "You didn't change anything the first time." He is
quiet for a moment.
"I'm going back," he says, "to the day you and your sister arrived."
"Ah," I tell him, and flatten my hand on his chest, remarking to
myself at its smooth hairlessness.
"Is that all you have to say?" he wonders.
"What should I say?" I retort. He turns to face me, eyes dark. I
regret at that moment that I am unable to feel things the way he does, and
it makes my stomach hurt.
"I -- have to _kill_ you," he whispers. "Don't you see? I have to
_kill_ you."
"Better you," I tell him with a smile, "than anyone else." He pulls
back his fist, frustrated, angry, tearful, and I catch his hand and push
him down and make him forget for the moment.
One day he comes to me but refuses to follow me to our retreat. "I'm
leaving today," he says, unwilling to look into my eyes.
"You'll be back," I point out.
"Yes," he agrees momentarily. "Yes." I catch him to me, force him
to look into my eyes, kiss him fiercely, find myself angry that he seems
to be showing no emotion.
"Careful," I tell him, "you'll dehydrate at this rate, and you won't
have the strength to kill me when you come back." He rests his forehead
on my shoulder and I kiss his neck, and he leaves.
I brood while he is gone, sit by the fountain, watch the clean water,
and wait for him.
When he returns he has grown, and my stomach hurts again as I look at
him. He stands in front of me and now I have to look up to see into his
clear blue eyes, bright crystals the colour of sky. We stare at one
another for a long time.
"I'm sorry," he says, even now giving in to tears.
"I know," I tell him, and marvel as he begins to glow, as his fine
silken hair spikes, as his body increases slightly in size. He is
beautiful in his power, more beautiful than ever I have seen him.
And for the first time since Gero awakened me in his lab, my eyes
ache and my cheeks are damp and I wish I knew the right words to say to
let him know how I feel, how I have felt, how I want him to make me feel.
Instead I close my eyes, the image of him imprinted on my mind, and I
hold out my arms at my sides and I wonder, briefly, if there will be an
afterlife for someone as incapable of emotion as I.
***
end
***