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

Billowing clouds of steam filled the air and made breathing difficult for the twelve saiyan males in the room. Glistening tanned flesh and moistened fur added to the scenery of the filthy shower stalls, owners far from modest. Guttural swearing and other animalistic sounds permeated the atmosphere, much to the amusement of one particular saiyan elite. He was seated on a bench in a distant corner, drying habitually between his toes. His long black hair flipped and fell around his shoulders in an untidy sprawl, and his athletic build ran with rivulets of hot water from the run-off of the shaggy mess.

Concentrating on the task at hand, he realized that once he set his feet on the ground to dress, his feet would become contaminated with the grime on the floor, and would be dirty once again, despite having been washed mere minutes before hand. Mild irritation rose within him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to properly care, and instead he simply folded his feet beneath him and began to roughly towel his hair. Most of his teammates dried themselves with their ki, and admittedly, it was a hell of a lot easier, but he found a sort of mindless pleasure in the slow task of working the water from his body. Or another's. He smirked.

Across the humid room were three saiyans that he rather not associate with. (He would not admit to himself that he didn't particularly enjoy associating with any saiyans, as that would indicate that something was wrong with him, and there most certainly was not.) They had finished their showers very near the same time that he had, and were now playing a rather vicious game of "ass tag", in which they attempted to leave the biggest welts on each others hind ends via wet towels and quick tails. Sighing deeply, he finally stood, grimacing at the cold stickiness that met with the arches of his feet. He was no longer included in those games. He was an "outcast".

Shaking his head slightly and blowing the stray bangs from his eyes, he opened his personal locker and hung the towel, then removed the thick, white gi pants and red top from their resting place in the bottom. Moving to thread a foot through one of the pant legs, he was suddenly halted in his actions as one third of the trio came up to join him in dressing. He quirked a thin eyebrow at the slender saiyan and paused in the awkward position.

The other saiyan said nothing, but paid his backside such an appreciative glance that it made him reconsider his choice of clothing. He recognized the man from a training mission they had been on, and also as a close team member. A spunky, loudmouthed saiyan that held a particular affection for raising hell whenever-and wherever-he could. His looks were nothing short of ordinary, but as it tended to run with saiyan males, he still stood as strikingly attractive. He wanted to say something, to begin a conversation, but to his everlasting frustration, his social skills were, as usual, inadequate.

Instead, to his surprise, the other began talking to him, and only then did he realize, as the man's smooth tenor voice resounded against the tiled walls of the locker room, that they were quickly earning the pleasure of being alone together. Turning toward him as calloused hands shifted in a small bag for a sharp razor, the saiyan spoke: "Hey. Guess you're a little slow in getting ready like me, too, huh? Gotta be ready for the ladies and gents, if you know what I mean." A wink punctuated his sentence, and the brassy saiyan then sashayed over to the pathetic mirror on the wall. Though abused and a bit tarnished, it had survived over the years.

He found himself relating to the cracked piece of glass. "I suppose."

A wince twisted his features at the pitiful response, and he found himself yet again cursing his lack of conversational abilities. He had earned himself a strange look from the now-shaving saiyan, but it passed and he was addressed once more. "Not a talker? Hey, whatever. Doesn't matter." He paused and smirked at his reflection, flicking a bit of goo from his razor and rinsing it under the shoddy tap. "Vegeta wasn't much of one either, until I came along." He let silence reign once again, making sure that the insinuation was properly understood. "What's your name, anyway? You never seem to wanna hang with us."

He grit his teeth to keep from stuttering and paused in fastening his pants, and as he looked up, he ignored the fact that the other saiyan was unabashedly letting his body air-dry. "Brolli."

"Brolli, huh? My name's Turles."

Brolli watched as Turles finished shaving, taking in the small nick on the back of his jawbone. There was an uncomfortable moment shared between them as Turles waited for Brolli to speak, but the longhaired anomaly found himself void of topics. Floundering for something, anything, to continue the spontaneous companionship going on between them, he suddenly sputtered, "Are you related to Kakarotto?"

Sighing in irritation, Turles threw his razor into the sink violently and turned on him, annoyance flaring in the auburn eyes. Realizing he had said the wrong thing (again), Brolli sighed and raised his ki a bit, preparing to defend himself. He didn't know why he had asked that; sure, Turles and Kakarotto looked a lot alike, but so did many other saiyans. Perhaps his particular dislike for the spiky-headed brat caused his thoughts to betray him for a moment? His hands clenched into fists and he curled his upper lip at the other saiyan, responding to the challenge.

Turles, however, was merely irritated at having been asked that question. The question he had heard only 800 times. "No, I'm not. He's Bardock's whelp," he snapped, completely ignoring the aggression in the previously complacent saiyan's form, "and I swear, if one more person asks me that, I'll-" He stuttered and halted his sentence, finally realizing that he was quite possibly in danger. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that! I just get worked up and shit, you know, 'cause I've been asked that so many damn times. It's really annoying."

Brolli blinked, and much like a deflating balloon pulled taut at the mouth, slowly began to release the tension and swell in his rising ki. With a nod, he cocked his head and caught the site of the nick again, only now it was currently oozing a drop of blood that Turles didn't seem to notice. He pointed to it and murmured, "You've nicked yourself."

Midnight eyebrows drew southward, and the now-dry and still very nude saiyan turned to inspect the damage in the mirror. Shrugging nonchalantly and smirking at him, he replied to the information with a haughty tone. "Who the fuck cares? It's not enough to mar this pretty face." The saiyan strolled over to him, and Brolli felt the fur on his tail rise as his personal space was very thoroughly invaded. "Wanna clean it up for me?"

Brolli stuttered silently and stared at it before realizing that he was being completely pathetic. Mentally kicking himself for being such an utter coward, he licked his thumb and ran it over the crimson mark, wiping away the blood. However, as he began to pull his hand back for a taste of the decadent fluid, he suddenly found the inside of his wrist smeared with an identical vibrant red. His eyes grew fractionally larger, and he nearly snarled and backhanded the offender. However, preventing him was the fact that said offender was currently lapping at the new wound and pinning him with a lusty gaze.

Parting from the laceration with a soft smack, Turles then purred at him and swung his tail in a slow arc. Licking his lips in satisfaction, he met Brolli's eyes and began to continue on a trail up the man's arm, dancing a twirling pattern with his mouth over the sharp, steely curves of Brolli's biceps and shoulder. Reaching the point where he could no longer meet the man's stare at all, he traced the curve of the strong neck and square jaw line, sucking and nipping, licking and kissing... When he came to the soft pout of Brolli's lips, he hovered for a moment and flicked his eyes to the other saiyan's and let out a quiet, cocky chuckle.

Then he kissed him deeply, laced with stolen dominance and purring murkily with desire.

Brolli briefly found himself responding to the sudden kiss before he came to his senses and shoved the saiyan away. It wasn't that the near-total anonymity bothered him; saiyans got their rocks off as often as possible with as many people as would put out. It wasn't the setting or the saiyan himself that bothered him, either, for quite the same reason.

It was simply that he was not going to give in without a goddamned fight.

He was really quite weary of playing the submissive in the background, and so with a feral snarl, he snapped his tail and growled at his soon-to-be partner. Turles smirked in anticipation and assumed a fighting stance. "I had been hoping that you wouldn't be the pathetic push-over that you always looked like."

Having gained confidence from his aggression, his voice poured from his throat like hot molasses, thick and rich in its deep baritone. "Appearances can be deceiving, Kakarotto."

Scowling sourly and growling at the implied insult, Turles leapt from his stance and threw his body into the larger saiyan's. Despite his smaller stature, he was still quite heavy, and managed to knock his opponent back a few feet before they met in a stalemate. Their fingers laced together and clenched tightly, drawing minute rivulets of blood from crescent-shaped slices. Tails were flexed and whipped about, and every muscle was strained to the limit.

Realizing that they were getting nowhere, and mildly uncomfortable as a result of his partial arousal, Turles finally became fed up with their match of strength and dropped his guard near completely, causing a very startled Brolli to pitch forward on top of him. From there, Turles worked to flip their bodies over with very little success, as the larger saiyan had begun a valiant effort to keep him pinned to the drying floor with a sculpted, meaty arm against his collarbones. Noting that he was clearly outmatched in this department, he decided to try a different tactic.

Arching his body off of the clammy floor, Turles tightly wrapped his tail around Brolli's left thigh. Growling playfully, he ground his crotch against the thick fabric of the white gi pants adorning the bigger saiyan, causing Brolli to fumble a bit in his hold against Turles' chest. Taking the initiative, the shorter-haired saiyan then flipped them, but quickly found himself on his back once more. He attempted to lean up and nip his opponent's nose, but Brolli was quick (despite his position) and twisted his head away from the assault.

Heartily enjoying their wrestling match, Turles chuckled to himself and continued to rub himself against the heated body he was held against. He was willing to bet that Brolli didn't realize that he was rubbing back, or that he was as aroused as he felt. Flowing through the motions and neglecting to care about the destruction occurring around them, Turles was silently very glad that Brolli hadn't turned out to be some sort of flop. The man was gorgeous, and the Bardock look-alike had been planning to have him for a very, very long time. He was very curious about the gruff saiyan's social anxiety, but merely because he liked nebbing into other peoples' problems. Grunting as a bench broke beneath him (how did they get there?), he finally found an opening and sank his teeth into Brolli's shoulder.

With a growl of pain, the now-bleeding saiyan wrenched himself free of the clenched teeth and wrapped his fingers around Turles' throat. His body was tensed, his tail writhing behind him, and he sat back on his knees to burn a threatening glare into his captive's eyes. Turles, however, was merely amused, and, knowing that he probably couldn't beat Brolli, relaxed back onto the floor completely. At the shocked look he received, he purred an explanation. "You've won, Brolli. Now get the hell off of me and lets do this."

Brolli narrowed his eyes and emitted something that sounded much like a combination of a purr and a growl. It flowed straight to Turles' groin, and he was becoming ever more surprised and pleased at how this was turning out. Instead of receding, the longhaired saiyan simply sat down on his captive's abdomen. Spreading his fingers, he splayed them across the smaller saiyan's pectorals, rubbing faintly and getting a feel for the tight, muscled flesh. Behind him, his tail was wrapped around a toned thigh, and the tip was stroking a light pattern at the juncture between leg and crotch.

Turles bucked lightly and frowned. He was caught between two possible actions, and, not particularly suave in the decision-making department, he was very much stuck. It was either squirm and reveal that he was minutely ticklish, or attempt to steal a kiss from the dominant saiyan and endure the torture. Opting for the latter, as his other head was vehemently demanding attention, he grabbed onto the stray, soggy lock that had fallen over Brolli's shoulder and pulled toward himself, bringing the saiyan down to a kissable level. Their mouths clashed for a moment, teeth hitting each other, and then they were exploring fervently with tongues and lips. Their fingertips were memorizing also, if not affectionately, then at least to figure out what to caress next.

Unfortunately for Turles, Brolli was still stroking that tender spot with his tail, and it was quickly becoming difficult to resist grabbing the tail and pulling it away. This was simply out of the question, however, as it could very well be misinterpreted as a threat, and so he simply twisted and bucked discreetly, hoping to at least distract the saiyan from his subconscious torture. Receiving a smirk for his antics, he scowled in irritation. "What's so funny?"

"Have I hit a tender spot?"

"Fuck you."

"Actually, Turles, I had intended quite the opposite." Leaving no room for protest, he leaned down and captured the sputtering saiyan's lips, erstwhile drawing small trails down the cut torso in front of him. Up, down, to the sides, Brolli didn't particularly care. It had been quite some time since someone had "lowered" themselves to be with him, and so he was going to take advantage of the situation, whether Turles liked it or not. Preferably, though, he did want the sassy saiyan to enjoy their time together, and so he trailed back up to pinch and pull at the two coppery nubs on the man's chest, and finally, finally removed his tail from its place around the tanned thigh.

Their lips parted with a soft smacking sound and Turles reached up to smooth a hand down the planes of Brolli's back. Breath hissed through his teeth at the double assault on his chest, and he arched off the filthy floor, urging the man to hurt him further. The tail that had stopped its terrible ministrations had now currently curled around his ever-growing erection and was pumping slowly, fur bunching at the light sheen of sweat and creating a texture that he found strange and exotic. Thrusting into the touch, he nearly keened in disappointment when the furry limb was removed.

Brolli, thoroughly enjoying himself, leaned down and began to lap at the swollen, peaked nipples on Turles' chest. The man tasted of sweat and soap, and he bit down roughly to draw a bit of blood, earning himself a grunt of appreciation. His hands dared lower, scratching lightly with his sharpened fingernails and teasing with light touches around the hairless navel and hipbones. Never having had the opportunity to take the dominating side of things, he found that he preferred it and allowed himself a bit of pride at the pleasure he was bringing Turles.

Finally finishing with the bruised and bleeding morsels on the powerful saiyan's chest, Brolli began to trail his mouth lower, lapping at the spicy skin and taking in the smell of earth and male saiyan. There were fingers fisting in his hair, but he didn't mind... The tingling, burning sensation at his scalp was barely registered as he dipped his tongue into Turles' navel. He mimicked an action they'd be engaged in further along, causing Turles to twist and buck once more, then smirked and blew into the small divot. It brought about a moan and an arch, and Brolli decided that he'd like to find out what else he could make Turles do.

Following even lower, he breathed a flow of warmth across the flat surface of the other saiyan's abdomen. It was pretense to a rough, bruising kiss, and deep down, Brolli wanted to say that the mark was possessive. He gave the fleeting thought no mind, however, and simply continued south, running his tongue around the base of Turles' manhood. It wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be (but if he had been truthful to himself, he'd have admitted that he hadn't really thought about it in the first place), and as he drew a thin line of saliva up the underside to circle the head, Turles purred scratchily and tightened his grip even further.

Intending merely to tease, Brolli swallowed most of the swollen shaft a few times and pulled away, earning himself a snarl and a chop to the ear. He chuckled, and instead of taking the bait, he took part of Turles' tight, throbbing sack into his mouth and suckled roughly, bringing about a falsetto cry from the writhing saiyan. His head pounded from the unexpected thumping, but it wasn't like it was undeserved. He'd done the same thing to the last person that had given him head. Releasing him, he moved yet further down to the puckered entrance that he was aching to thrust himself into. By this time, his pants were painfully constricting, but he was too impatient to deal with the consequences should he pause to remove the garment.

 Turles' head was spinning. He'd been having a terrible day up until he had spoken with Brolli, but luckily for the both of them, he was quickly forgetting about it. He could tell that the taller saiyan was a bit inexperienced, but with the way he had spoken earlier, it didn't surprise him. Regardless, he opened his mouth in a silent cry and wound his tail around the other man's throat; the pale anomaly was fantastic in his own way. The slick lapping and prodding between his cheeks were bringing about sensations that he had forgotten about, having been the top for so long. It still irritated him a bit that he was playing submissive, but he supposed that he'd comply just this once. He'd just have to make sure that it didn't...get around.

"F-fuck, Brolli, where did you learn how to do that?"

Grinning and chuckling, the action sending small puffs of air against the moistened flesh and causing Turles to gasp, Brolli simply shrugged, "Around," and returned to his task. Turles was almost ready, at least to his satisfaction, and with each passing second, the maned saiyan grew more intolerant of the constriction to his loins. Finishing with his preparations, he leaned back (avoiding the fist this time) and began to remove the pants he had put on earlier. They were now several shades of brown and gray from the grit on the floor, but it didn't particularly bother him. At the moment, anyway.

When he was fully in the buff once more, he reached forward to wrap Turles' thighs around his waist, but was caught by surprise as the saiyan knocked his hands away and pushed him back. Having been propped on the balls of his feet, he lost his balance and fell to the floor easily, nearly grimacing at the cold, damp press of the floor at his back. Their positions were quickly flipped, and Brolli couldn't help himself when he reached up to grip Turles' hips in a bruising grasp. The saiyan smirked at him and shook his head lightly. "What, you didn't really think I'd be on the bottom, too, did you? Tsk. I'm not that submiss-" He cut off abruptly with a loud gasp of pain.

From below, Brolli smiled softly in triumph and caught the sharp gaze of his new lover. "You talk too much, Turles."

Snarling, and not quite wanting to admit that the intense pain of a swift entry turned him on like nothing else, he viciously punched the reclined saiyan across the jaw before he began to move. His insides were burning and probably bleeding, but it only added fuel to the fire, and soon he began to forget to be upset with the larger saiyan for telling him to shut up. Well, not really telling, per se, but-he stopped his train of thought, realizing that Brolli was right.

 The pinned saiyan began to thrust, then, performing rough, jerking actions for the pleasure of them both. He could tell that Turles was a regular seme as he was so damned tight, and this realization spurred him further to give the brazen saiyan the ride of his life. He pounded mercilessly into the groaning man, snarling a bit, himself. The heat of Turles' body was surprisingly intense, even for a saiyan, and the harsh pull and caress of the velvet flesh surrounding him was exquisite.

The grunts and groans that echoed from the walls were animalistic. Black and blue fingerprints were beginning to appear on Turles' hips, but he completely neglected to notice as he rode the shockingly uninhibited saiyan for all he was worth. Pleasure shot through his body like electric, spiking and pulsating within him and making his fingertips tingle. Reaching back, he braced himself on the larger saiyan's knees for greater leverage and slammed himself down even harder, causing the other to grunt loudly as the wind was momentarily knocked from his lungs. He knew his body would be less than pleased with him in a few hours, but it would be a pleasant soreness, and perhaps he could get the odd saiyan to ease it a little. At the prospect, he smirked and arched his back, clenching his muscles around the other saiyan in an attempt to make him finish first, but the action backfired and caused Brolli to hit that spot inside of him. That spot that was the only reason he'd ever be bottom.

Thus, in an unfortunate but ironic defeat in which he still won, Turles came hard upon the chest of his lover, growling loudly and digging his fingernails into the creamy flesh beneath his palms. He threw his head back and thrust hard, if not bringing about Brolli's climax, then at least intensifying his own. In the midst of euphoria, he neglected to notice the larger saiyan's release coming scarce moments after his own, and furthermore ignored it when he came down from his high.

They sat there like that for several minutes, relishing the healthy afterglow of a good pounding. Turles used Brolli's legs as a sort of makeshift support until his body regained a bit of strength, and then slowly removed himself from the other saiyan. Licking his lips, he sauntered over to the tiny, broken mirror once more to inspect himself, looking for any marks he could possibly flaunt. Brolli, still lying on the floor, smeared the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead and sat up, frowning lightly at the mess he had made of himself. Or rather, that Turles had made of him. He hoisted himself onto his haunches and stood, relishing the familiar burn in his thighs and calves, and with one mighty stretch, started toward the showers for another wash.

Out of the corner of his eye, Turles caught the other man's motions. Grinning to himself, he wagged his tail behind him in satisfaction. "Need another shower there, 'rolli-kun?"

Brolli paused in front of one of the stalls and turned, painting a pretty picture with his flushed, fluid-ridden body and tightened muscles. Leering, he gave Turles a once-over and chuckled. "Indeed. Care to join me?"