Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Autopilot ❯ Autopilot ( Chapter 1 )

The rumbling vibrations of the large cargo ship flowed through his body gently, as if a caress, and as Turles finished the proper procedure to activate the ship's autopilot, he closed his eyes and purred at the sensation. The leather seat he was sitting in was worn from use, padding coming out of lacerations in the dyed skin, and yet, as he settled back in with a lazy sigh, it was as comfortable as ever. His tail dangled over the armrest, limp save for the tip curling ever so slightly in languid ease, and he rest his elbows on the supports as well.

Unfortunately, his contentment was to be short-lived as a loud, belligerent yell sounded through the thin wall. His eyes snapped open in irritation as the rest of his crew joined in, and he dug his nails into the worn hide on the armrests to keep himself from tossing something at them. Namely a ki blast, but anything would do, really, if it got them to shut up. He scowled, bitter at his situation, and slammed a fist down on the unsuspecting console, raising a few sparks and causing a soft alarm to sound somewhere in the room. The grumpy saiyan's expression turned acidic, and he reached up to rub briefly at the bridge of his nose.

The alcohol was flowing freely in the room one down from the one he was in. His fellow crewmates, all 5 of them, had unanimously decided that he deserved the night shift. He wasn't sure if this was so that they could party without him, to spite him for his often-domineering personality, or if they had a higher motive, but either way, it irritated the shit out of him. He propped his chin on the heel of his hand and glared at the stars that were passing by, thinking about who was in the next room over.

There was, of course, Brolli, who was probably sulking in the corner with half a drink in his hand. The thought brought a wry grin to his face, but it fell just as quickly. There were two saiyans whom he had never met before, and didn't particularly care to remember, as they were disgracefully unclean, disrespectful, and weaker than he was. Last but not least, there were the two sons of Bardock at the party, and at that thought, Turles' thoughts took a different direction.

Radditz and Kakarotto were two completely different people. If their lineage were unknown, one would never possibly point them out as relatives. Radditz, the older of the two, was fierce and powerful; he had a quick wit about him earned from living on the bad side of the tracks. His body was sharp and scarred from years of battle experience, and his eyes held shadows behind the shades of onyx. Kakarotto, on the other hand, was light where Radditz was dark. Sure, he was still obnoxious and abominable (he was saiyan, after all), but the teen held a sort of spring to his step that hadn't been taken from him yet. His sinewy body was still developing, and the skin covering his surprising musculature was still soft and relatively smooth.

Wondering minutely what such flesh must feel like, Turles began to let his imagination get away from him. His eyes drifted shut once more and he tried to think of how warm Kakarotto's body would be beneath his touch. He envisioned the lovely body spread beneath his, or perhaps sat on his lap, with a slightly pink tinge to the milky skin. His groin awakened with the fantasy, and he ran the tip of his tongue along his top lip, thinking of how sweet the rosy buds upon the boy's chest would taste. The tips of his fingers danced down his body, and he ached to trace the curves of Kakarotto's body instead.

As he dipped into the waistband of his shorts, he thought he heard a stumbling down the hallway. Naturally, however, he scoffed and tugged southward, sliding the tight spandex down to free his manhood with a sigh of anticipation. The chilled, recycled air on the ship hit the heated tip, wringing a sharp breath from his throat, and he smiled broadly. His hand gripped the hardened shaft tightly and began to pump, sustaining a slow, steady rhythm to accompany his mind.

Gasping quietly, he thrust into his own tight grip, lifting his hips off of the worn seat. He thought of Kakarotto's tight rear positioned directly over his weeping cock, moaning loudly and begging him for a good pounding. The saiyan's mouth was swollen and kiss-bruised, his pupils dilated, and his hair mussed. His hands were toying with his own nipples, pinching and pulling them to scarlet fruition, and pouring from his parted lips were gasps and groans of delicious suffering.

Turles began to tug harder on his swollen member, shutting his eyes tightly and gritting his teeth against the pleasure. His breath hissed through his teeth as he began to pant heavily, and through his fogged thoughts and blurred reality, he could hear the door to the room swish open, allowing a drunken teammate to swagger in. He didn't miss a beat, but he did slow down his movements significantly, holding himself. His body was pulled taut, balancing on the razor-sharp edge of bliss, and he couldn't help but tilt his head back and groan loudly.

The sound piqued the interest of said teammate, and the spiky-haired man strolled up beside the chair, taking in the sight before him. There was Turles, one of his crew captains, with his feet propped on the desk. His shorts were drawn down around his knees, pulling uncomfortably tight around the musculature, and there was a hand languidly stroking his erection like there was no one else in the room. Of course, from the look on the man's face, he could very well think that there wasn't anyone else, and perhaps because of the alcohol ridding his senses, or maybe because it was a perfect opportunity, Kakarotto began to laugh.

The pilot opened his eyes and shot a watery glare at the younger saiyan, but did not release the grip on his shaft. He then smirked, and leaned back into the chair, resting his arms on the rests provided. His tail took the place of his large hand, creating a sheath by wrapping several times around the pulsing erection, and he growled lightly at the feeling of the different texture brushing his sensitive flesh. The fact that the very man of his fantasies was standing before him, watching him, fueled his stamina a bit, and he wondered just how long it would be before he had the saiyan. "What's so funny, Kakarotto?"

"You're...jacking off. In here. Where we can see."

"Mmm, and have you never found release as a result of your own touch, Kakarotto? Is this so new and fascinating that you find the urge to watch?" He grinned arrogantly. "Or am I simply that gorgeous?"

"New and fascinating, no, and I don't want to watch you."

Not having expected that answer, Turles paused in his actions and stared up into the glazed eyes of the youngest son of Bardock. "And why not?"

"I want to help you."

Raising his eyebrows a bit in surprise, the older of the two removed his tail and gestured toward his weeping organ expectantly. Kakarotto licked his lips and smiled cheekily, his tail bristling and wagging behind him. His cheeks were as flushed as Turles had imagined, though not quite from pleasure (yet), and he thread a hand through the sable chaos atop the saiyan's head. When that pink tongue of his first ran along the glistening slit in the head of Turles' erection, the older saiyan's eyelids slid tightly shut and he grinned in ecstasy as the other man began to work his magic.

It didn't take long for him to climax, but he wasn't concerned in the least. Having been kept on the brink of orgasm for so long, his final push for bliss had been better than usual, but he had a feeling that he had the best yet to come. He unclenched his fist from his newfound lover's hair, petting the rough spikes a bit, and then grabbed the squared chin in a brutal grasp, turning Kakarotto's gaze onto his own. "Strip for me, Kakarotto. Perform; make me want you."

The younger saiyan licked his lips again, smearing a bit of the pearly essence across his chin. He stepped away from Turles, stumbling a bit, and began to sway his hips to an inaudible beat. His fingers hooked themselves into the straps on his shoulder armor, and with one hefty tug, it was off of him, revealing solid, defined lines of muscle that had been hiding underneath. Turning and swaying, Kakarotto ran his hands along his body, groping himself and tracing curves and divots along his torso and neck. His tail was lapping and twirling around his thighs and crotch, catching Turles' attention, and as it trailed over the growing bulge in Kakarotto's pants, the pilot found himself aching to touch. "Faster, damn you."

The other saiyan smirked at him and tore at his shirt, tearing large gaps in the navy fabric. The thin, pathetic strands still holding the garment together cut into his ivory skin, bringing forth minute beads of crimson that Turles yearned to lap from the slender torso. Clawing further, the slender saiyan tore the shirt from himself completely, but did not follow though with his pants. Instead, he turned his back, and, still rolling his hips and thighs to the silent music, he pulled the tight material down his long, athletic legs with deliberate slowness. The further he removed his pants, the more of his backside was revealed to Turles, and with Kakarotto arching his tail over his back in obvious presentation, the sober saiyan got quite the fantastic view.

Once his pants were fully removed, Kakarotto turned and faced his dominator, knowing full well that he was damned attractive. From the look on Turles' face, he had done something right, and though his thoughts were clouded and his vision blurred, he felt a flush of pride at having had control for a brief moment. The impatient growl from the saiyan in front of him, he supposed, was supposed to be intimidating, but it just flowed straight to his groin like hot mercury, and he caught the moan in his throat.

"Get over here."

Kakarotto sauntered over to the chair obediently, and grunted as he was violently plucked from the floor and set onto Turles' lap. Needing no further encouragement, he ground against the blistering heat emanating from the older saiyan's groin and leaned forward eagerly. Attaching his mouth to the bared throat, he licked and nuzzled adoringly, nipping with his teeth when he came to the soft hollows in the lightly scarred flesh. Turles enacted his fantasy, trailing his fingers over the impossibly pale flesh before him, completely in awe as to how soft it really was. He decided that he would have to roughen the other saiyan up a bit; give him some scars, as something so untainted really couldn't be saiyan at all.

Pinching at the pastel buds with his fingernails, the older look-alike reveled in the pained gasp it brought about. Kakarotto was working wonders on his skin, conjuring tiny rivulets of sweat to run in the small of his back. Not wanting to wait any longer, he buried both hands into the shaggy, sweaty mop on the other saiyan's head and pulled him up for a rough, deep kiss, distracting him from what Turles was about to do.

While Kakarotto was occupied with the violation of his mouth, Turles slid his hands from the thick hair down the curve of the fighter's spine, ending his descent with a firm slap to both globes of tight muscle guarding the puckered entrance the saiyan was impatiently looking forward to ravaging. Parting the two cheeks and running a hand over the bared slit, he moaned quietly into the harsh kiss before impaling the raven-haired saiyan onto his aching shaft. Kakarotto's jaw hung open in a silent scream, mind short-circuiting at the pain and pleasure colliding in his body. The alcohol flowing in his veins was serving as a sort of painkiller, allowing him to move on the swollen organ much more quickly than he'd usually do so. Craving more of the length inside of him, he leaned back from Turles' embrace, groaning, his body shuddering, and ground harder against the older saiyan's lap.

The poor abused chair squeaked threateningly beneath them as the pilot began to thrust violently into the body on top of him. His teeth were bared and the fur on his tail was bristled into writhing spikes; he whipped the limb up to twine around the trembling arm of the saiyan sitting on top of him. They moved together violently, causing harsh, wet slapping sounds to echo into the room, and briefly, beneath the thick haze of pleasure that was clouding his mind, Turles reflected with satisfaction that there was nothing sentimental about saiyan sex. With such thoughts in his mind, he grabbed the drunken saiyan's hips viciously and began to ram him even harder, and Kakarotto could only moan louder.

From the room down the hall, a few catcalls and whistles emanated into the hall after the occupants finally caught wind of Kakarotto's clamor. Turles smirked devilishly, and though he wanted to hold out and make the moment last, his climax was quickly approaching. If he could just hold out until the saiyan in his lap came... The pilot took a firm hold on the bouncing manhood in front of him and pumped enthusiastically, shutting his eyes tightly in ecstasy as Kakarotto's climax caused a spasm of muscles around his quivering shaft. His seed let loose from him into the impossibly hot, flushed body he still held in a bruising grip, and he bit down roughly into the porcelain shoulder in front of him. The pleasure was so prevalent that it hurt deliciously, and as crimson copper flowed into his mouth, he caught Kakarotto as the man slumped, spent, onto Turles' welcoming chest.

They sat for a moment and basked in the afterglow, their bodies still thrumming with pain and pleasure. Kakarotto was dozing quietly, the alcohol finally taking a full hold on his now-satisfied body, and Turles simply stared out the window, appreciating the hypnotic flow of stars and galaxies past their ship. Soon, however, his body longed for a good cleansing, and so he stood awkwardly, cradling Kakarotto in his arms. The spiky-headed twin was promptly deposited into the chair, as Turles knew he could probably rouse him for another go at it later, and his shorts were replaced at his waist.

When he exited the pilot's room, he happened to run into Brolli on the way to the shower.

His ego smirked lightly when the quiet outcast had the nerve to salute.