Moments In A Life

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Warnings and Things that Don't Belong to Me:

A. DBZ, DBGT (even though its never included in any of my writing) and DB don't belong to me. I don't make money off this or you would have had to pay to read. ;)

B. Warnings include (but aren't necessarily limited to): Smut (sex, MALE and MALE sex.) Bad language. Vegeta with an attitude and a secret. Goku (who isn't stupid.) *shudder * Krillin sex. It's also AU. (Not terribly. It's set after the Buu Saga, but it doesn't include anything from the GT world.)

C. Also: Challenge answered from Marie at Aff.net, and Hudine's challenge for straight Goten and Trunks. (Though it pains me so.)

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Sometimes he wondered how he got here. He didn't think that he wanted it, couldn't remember ever thinking about it or even how he ended up like this. But it happened. It happened a lot more often than he would like. And he found himself standing in the shower looking at his skin and wondering just how many times he could feed his wife the 'I was training' line before she caught on and pointed out that training didn't leave finger-shaped bruises on your hips where someone held you still. Didn't bruise your mouth that way because occasionally you got a kiss out of it.

But he didn't want a kiss.

Didn't want it at all.

Hated it when he found himself itching as he thought about it, and that was how he ended up here every time. That didn't explain how it started though. He couldn't even remember that himself. Only that somehow he had ended up alone with Vegeta for just a few moments too long and this had happened.

He found himself on his knees on a mattress and box-spring flat against the floor, gasping and clawing for anything to hang onto as he was impaled. Pulled back whimpering and wanting but at the same times not wanting it at all. Not that it mattered. Didn't matter then, didn't matter now.

Now.

As he rocked into the mattress and bit his lips hard, murmured deep in his chest where it couldn't be heard unless you were listening especially for it. Each thrust rising another noise out of him, and it hurt almost. Sore. Bruised. He felt like he was used, and he was, because for all Vegeta cared he was just a fucking hole. Nothing more.

One gloved hand wrapped up in his hair and yanked his head back, bowing his body as he was fucked, and he wanted more of it. Begged for it with every grunt and groan and whimpering whine of need that escaped from him. Heard the grin and hated the asshole behind him, thrust into him so deep and so perfectly that somehow he was now that bastard's slave. And he knew it. Relished it, probably, that he had someone so under his will.

He should have fought it, should have screamed for help or death or something. Should have used those muscles he had trained so long to get, but he had never been strong, never as strong as Goku and not as strong as Vegeta. Not nearly strong enough to get his hands off him. Because he wanted that hand that ran down his back, pressed a hard thumb into his spine and the hips that slapped against his as he grunted again, tried to get his hair out of the hard hand that held him, and pulled his back tight and painful as he was pummeled. Deep. Felt each spike as his prostate made his legs shake, and shiver, and he could feel Vegeta between his knees, feel that body, thin and muscled and he knew the skin was darker bronze because once in a fucking while the bastard turned him on his stomach and made him watch it happen. Showed him the face attached to the cock that drove into him and made him need it every time.

More and more of it.

Never failed, though, the end was the same, he choked back his sob of pleasure, released against the dirty mattress, and Vegeta would grin at him, even when he couldn't see it, he knew that grin was there. Ride him harder, but he never came. Fucked him until Krillin was spent completely and then shoved him away. Told him to get his clothes and leave. Wiped himself off, and left Krillin alone in the cold room. Shivering and naked with the wet bed under him, between his knees and the knowledge that he wasn't enough for Vegeta.

The knowledge that he was disappointed by this.

That's what brought him back. Every time. Brought him to Capsule Corp where Vegeta's son answered the door sometimes and looked at him strange. Asked him why he was there, and didn't ever seem to realize what was happening. Or maybe he knew that Krillin was his dad's favorite new fuck toy and he didn't care. Just looked at him with the same blue eyes that Bulma had, shook his head and let him in the house. Never told him where Vegeta was, but like a fucking homing pigeon, Krillin already knew.

And his skin itched when he climbed the stairs to Vegeta's room. An empty room. Stripped of all evidence of life. Only a box spring and a mattress on the floor. Stained with him. Vegeta was never there; he was always in the other room. The one that was his, where he had stayed before Bulma. Sometimes he was reading, sometimes he was nothing. Just standing, staring. Looking like a man haunted with something that destroyed him, and Krillin always thought that maybe, this time, he would be enough.

Fell to his knees sometimes, let Vegeta look down at him and smirk. Strange. Strange that he wanted to know what it was that could break the almighty Prince. And maybe it was nothing.

Vegeta never asked why he came back. Didn't ask when Krillin stripped himself of his clothes and breathed heavy. Didn't ask when their skin touched. Didn't ask when Krillin sat on the bed and wrapped his mouth around Vegeta, didn't ask at all. He fucked, Krillin cried out. That's how it always happened. Ended when he came, clenched his body around Vegeta as he was fucked harder just for coming, and then nothing.

It always happened the same.

So he shook and clenched his hands into tight fists as he moved, tipped to one side, and sat on the edge of the bed, felt bruised and painful. Sat there, and sighed. Because he was betraying his wife and he was too much a fucking coward to tell her that. Because he couldn't remember if he wanted this or not, and because he could put his clothes back on, over the smell of Vegeta, over the smell of sex and the bruises on his hips and his back, but clothes would only keep their secret for so long.

Someone would ask eventually.

He stood up, his legs shook and he tried to ignore it as he crossed the room, picked up his clothes from the pile where he left them at the door. Pulled his pants on first, had to lean against the wall to lift his legs without falling over, and when he had them pulled on, he stood there and looked at the bed.

Saw himself like a specter there, every time, asking for it without saying a word.

Eventually Goku might come back. Come back and find that Bulma had died, that whatever human parts Vegeta had at one point had died with her and the only thing left was a Saiyan that stared out the window of a room with eyes that were haunted and dark. That fucked Goku's bestest little buddy friend but didn't come. Yeah, one day Goku would be back, and he would go home to his little house, go home and see Chichi and her new husband, and it wouldn't bother Goku because nothing bothered Goku. Or maybe he'd visit Krillin and ask him how he got bruises on his back the same size and shape of Vegeta's hands.

Didn't matter. Krillin picked the shirt up off the floor and pulled it on over his head. Shook his hair, felt dirty. Opened the door and slipped out. Down the stairs, out through the kitchen and he left as fast as his unstable legs could carry him. Ran away from it as best he could.

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Goku: *glare *

Vegeta: What?

Goku: You're only supposed to screw me.

Vegeta: Oi.

Goku: Don't you oi me, buddy! Just wait!