Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Mmm... Kinky! ❯ Secret Passion ( Chapter 6 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Mmm... Kinky!

Never once have I been denied. Not a single time has there been hesitation. The day… the week… the month… none of it matters. A single grin, a small chuckle, at the single motion of my head, flutter of my eyes, and we are together, in each other's arms - a closet, a bedroom, it doesn't really matter.

All he wants is love, unconditional. It's the one thing that he can't have, and I offer it to him, because what I feel is just that - unconditional love. Blood coats his past, every corner of it. He's so young, so innocent, and no one seems to really understand him. I do. I do, because it's what I've gone through. He watched his family, friends, and even people he didn't know, but did care about, die at the hands of whom he hated most. It happened to me, too. Everyone I loved… everyone I knew… gone, as if someone snapped fingers.

I don't know how it happened, how they all died in the world that he knew, but I know it happened. Even occasionally he whispers about his world to me, small words, fairly hard to understand, but I know… understand… I rarely speak of my own.

It's amazing how alike we are, and yet so different. The world views us as different people - the father and the son, cocky and arrogant, powerful and beautiful, trustworthy and yet mysterious, someone to always think twice about. If asked to list differences, they could easily, but the differences would be worthless - appearance, thoughts - but when everything comes down to the feral basics we are mirror images of one another.

No one really knows him. No one really knows me. How could anyone? Each day they see us, see us fighting, see our rage, but they only see what glows before them. They don't see the rage within us that throbs with each beat of our heart. They think us arrogant, rash, and haughty. They don't see the reason.

His hands are calloused from the years of struggle, dating back his childhood. His eyes shimmer with innocence - innocent curiosity. He wasn't a virgin when we came together. That was impossible. He knew what sex was. He'd fucked a good number of people throughout his life, both male and female. There is a difference, though, between making love and fucking. In the ways of love he was a virgin, and one of the purest kind.

It's why I view him as an angel. They, whoever 'they' are, always say that pure bliss will be bestowed upon a person when they reach heaven. I wonder when I died.

His needs are endless, but who can blame him? His curiosity drives me to madness when we are together, and his shyness is just plain adorable. He kisses my skin, caresses my length with feather touches that send shivers down my spine. I scream when he touches me, knowing that such pleasure must be a sin. Pure bliss won't come from the angels in heaven, but from the demons in hell, and he is the King of Hell… Satan… the Devil in disguise. I don't care what is name is, as long as his touches never cease.

They will never, and for that I am grateful, because being without him in my arms would surely kill me. I can't loose another. I can't loose him. I already have once. It's amazing that no one around us knows. Even if they did, sickened as they would be, it wouldn't stop either of us. We've been alone for too long. The loneliness is dark… unbearable… and we both refuse to return.

His arms circle around my torso as he forces me up upon my knees. He likes being seme. He pleasures me both ways, and I don't care how we do it. He's permitted me dominance on a few occasions, and honestly I prefer being beneath him. I belong there. I like feeling his muscular body mashing down upon mine, caressing my skin… driving me insane with his torments.

Pounding increases, cutting through my senses until I back and allow him to support us both. His hands circle around my abdomen, holding me tightly against him. His head rests upon my shoulders, our flushed cheeks resting side-by-side… never alone… always so close. His calloused fingers rub on the skin of my stomach, tracing down to the throbbing need between my thighs. They grip around it, tugging softly in one long tormenting stroke. I moan out, my hips jerking into that palm as he continues the ministrations to my backside. His thumb taunts me by squeezing the tip of my screaming arousal, growing moist from the precum. A warm tongue licks at my neck, threatening to bite. I tilt my head aside and moan out in ecstasy as he claims what rightfully belongs to him. Blood coats my shoulder as it leaks from his lips, warming my frigid skin. He loves the cold temperatures of winter, and the window of the room is wide opened, allowing the snow to drift in.

Cold… like his soul… like his life… like all the love he's been shone. It drives me to tears when I think of his past, and I'm sobbing now, though in pleasure, for him. I'd do anything to take away the pain from him. He is so beautiful… and his simple touch makes me die and finally feel alive all in the same moment. His bite grows deeper as I feel him becoming more frantic, and I match his movements. He strokes me harder, hands tightening around my length, and with the second stroke I scream out, my seed coating his hand. My inner muscles clench around his need, and he cried out, muffled by my skin. Together we collapse, entangled in limps and sweat.

"Trunks," he whispered softly as his breath finally begins to slow.

I purr out, resting my head against his muscular chest, safe in his arms.