Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Worth the Dig ❯ Worth the Dig ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Worth the Dig

Author: Danni

Summary: My old Pop died, but I'm not particularly upset. Maybe a bit sorrowful, but I really don't feel for him either way. Still, it makes sense that I pay one last tribute to him. Key word, tribute; I don't think he'd consider it respectful enough to call it "last respects"....

Pairing: Brolli/Paragus.

Warning: sexual situations (homosexual, incest, necrophilia (with a fresh body)), mature language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball/Z/GT, nor do I generate any profit off this piece of fanFICTION. Furthermore, I in no way condone, encourage or recommend incest or necrophilia.


Apparently good, old Pop has died.

Of course Brolli wasn't particularly upset. Maybe a bit sorrowful, but the death neither displeased nor excited him. Pop had died, apparently of severe injuries, and nothing the men could do had saved him.

What had befallen Pop anyway? he wondered. The last few days were such a blur, but the men had avoided Brolli for quite some time–as much as they could–and finally they had altogether vanished. A couple of soldiers lingered, as well as that octopus doctor, but that was all. Just him and Pop.

Brolli strolled at a leisurely pace through the dimly lit halls. Doctor Puss has only today told him where his father's body was. It has been three days since his demise. From what Brolli remembered of the stories Pop has told, the body would not decay for quite some time. Saiyajin bodies were unlike any others, Pop has said.

"I remember," he has said, with a vacant face but a chilled voice, "when I went on missions off world. There were my companions, weeks dead in the air and the heat and the stank of war. And still they looked about as fresh as I had seen 'em. Just as warm about and as flexible too. No, we don't decay like others. It's far from unnatural."

"Hmm!" Brolli smirked. It was only after he'd gone rampaging and only when Pop began to speak about such grim things that he'd listen to him. The stories had always put Brolli to sleep but in a good way; they served as his cozy, soft bed when none were there.

Poor Pop. All the man had left were his Saiyajin tales and a volatile son. He had had plans–dreams for the both of them, and now some bizarre death had robbed them of that.

At least there was a body to whom to pay respects.

Brolli typed in the code that Doctor Puss has given him. Only he and the doctor trusted themselves to his father's body. The men would just have to tantalise the thought of defiling a Saiyajin, a member of the most loathed race in the Universe. Then the door unlocked and slowly slid open. Brolli slipped inside as the door bolted shut behind him.

The light from the pale moons poured into the large chamber from the sky-blue windows. Brolli saw only a large, white sheet, apparently covering Pop and barely covering the large slab on which he lay. Brolli cocked his head and strolled up to the steps and up them to the slab. He pulled back enough of the sheet to see Pop's face.

White and bloodied bandages spiraled around his head. Otherwise his hair stuck out in its naturally wild way. Brolli smiled and rubbed his left cheek. That moustache still amused him–

"Warm," he said upon touching that cheek. So what Pop had said had not been a crock. Brolli smiled again.

"Pretty freaky, old man," he said, pulling the sheet down to his waist.

The man had obviously been stripped to naught. Old scars, as well as the new and the scratches, littered his chest. The old man had been incredibly resilient. He had even survived heavy haemorrhaging when Brolli had gouged out his left eye. But now he had been struck with a deadly enough blow, and he would not be coming back.

"Poor Pop," said Brolli, and he leaned closely, rubbing his head affectionately against his. "You wanted so much, and now you can't have it." Then he kissed his bandaged forehead.

Brolli held an ungloved hand and kissed the bridge of his nose, then kissed those still lips. He nudged his head affectionately once more, while a hand drifted beneath the sheet, below the waist. His fingers rubbed the base and shaft of a still warm penis.

"Poor Pop, you deserved so much better," cooed Brolli as he stroked his hair. "I guess I feel a little guilty about what happened to you, whatever it was." Then he kissed those lips again. "But I can pay my last respects now, right? I guess I kind of loved you... a little..." And his hand reached for that penis again. Slowly he rubbed up and down and thumbed the corona of that glans.

"Handsome. That's the only word–and becoming! You look most becoming: bronzed and sturdy, scarred and bloody. Death definitely becomes you, yes, handsome. Poor Pop...." Then he kissed his neck many times. "You deserve... so... much...."

Brolli lifted up Pop's torso with one arm and unwrapped the bandages around his head carefully. He tossed them to the side and kissed that bare brow, lips lingering, and held Pop closely. Brolli sighed.

"I don't quite know what else to do. Hmm!" He smirked. "We didn't get along all that well, but... we were our only company, being Saiyajin and all. Anyone who isn't, really isn't company, right? Oh well!" And he gently laid that torso back. He glanced at his hand, a faint sheen of blood upon the palm, and licked his fingertips.

"Oh! Ho, I'm sorry," he said and then began to unclasp his golden belt. "I know you probably don't approve of incest but"–the belt dropped with a resounding CLANG, and he began to unfurl his sarong–"there's not much else I can think of to repay you... you know, for all that storm and stress in your life."

Then he sat on the steps and removed his boots. He stood and smirked at his father, fondling the lock of hair that fell across his forehead. "I know you're very tired. I really shouldn't bother you, but we've never spent good quality time together. Hmm...."

Brolli held Pop's right hand, upon which the gold control device decorated. Brolli kissed the skin between the gold bands and complemented, "See? This looks so much better without the glove. You always did have such strong, fatherly hands. Not as strong as mine, but fatherly," and bringing that hand to his heart, he leaned closely and kissed him deeply again.

"If only you could feel me... oh, but you'll probably feel it in the next world," he said, snatching a vial out of a pocket. Then he set the vial aside and slid out of his white trousers. "You spirits are so sensitive to the doings of the living." Then he climbed atop the slab and over Pop's body. Brolli leaned closely and whispered, "And I can think of some spirits who'd be very jealous about now."

Then he turned himself around to face his father's cock. He bowed before it and raised the tip to his lips. He kissed the glans all around before licking it daintily, his fingers contracting rhythmically around the shaft. Brolli was certain that even in Death, the warm corpse could probably become at least half cocked. And after a good session of sucking, Brolli lifted himself and turned round again, glancing at his own throbbing erection.

"Well, look at that," he chuckled, "I've already got an erection. Doing a stiffy's given me a stiffy! Oh, but that isn't respectful!" Brolli laid his head on his father's chest. "I'm sorry, Pop, but we all know where my poor humour's come from." And he kissed his collar bone tenderly.

"Now where is that vial?" he wondered aloud. "Ah, right here!" He eyed it and rubbed it against his cheek. "A sweet-smelling lubrication, specially meant for this occasion. I don't think I could have used it for a better ritual." And he popped the cork from atop the vial, pouring the translucent liquid into his left hand. Then he tossed the little vial aside and rubbed his hands together.

Brolli leaned closely to his father's face again, one hand slickening his shaft while the other rubbed his father's scarred thighs. The young man began to pant deeply, right next to an unhearing ear. He began to curse in Saiyago and whisper lewdly in his Pop.

"I don't know why I want to fuck you," he said, "although... I don't know why anyone wouldn't want to fuck you. You always seemed to have... everyone's best intent so... you're quite the selfless lover, and like I've said, you're quite... becoming."

Here now, he was hard enough and slick enough. Hopefully Pop was loose enough, but he wouldn't feel a thing anyway. So Brolli straddled his hips and fingered his arsehole. Satisfied after probing, he drove his swollen shaft through that body, gasping at the tight sensation. Pop constricted perfectly around Brolli's proportions and might have been gasping in pain and ecstasy, were he alive.

"Ah! Father!" Brolli moaned. "I'm seeing white spots! But... it doesn't hurt me, and you certainly must feel no pain," and he shifted his hips forward to emphasise that point. "Oh, Pop, I owe you for so much. My life–uhn! My survival, your company, your... love"–he grinned sinisterly. "Sweet Pop... uhn!"

That throbbing shaft pulled rhythmically in and out of the body. All the while Pop lay in the unconciousness of death, never to know his son's "gratitude," save what the Lord of Death dare tell. And here his handsome cock and comely balls flushed slightly, his blood aroused by Brolli's mighty ki. Blood and semen began to ooze out of his violated orifice with every hedonistic stroke, and, to Brolli's sadistic delight, he was more than powerless.

He couldn't respond, period.

"Nnn! Father!" he moaned. "Oh, Pop, normally a struggle better turns me on but... your lack of it this time, I–I'm so happy you finally submit–ohh!"

Brolli's muscles tensed while the throbbing in his member became stronger. All the blood had rushed from one head to the other, and he was dizzied by the haze of sex. He nearly climaxed immediately, except he felt a new stirring around his busy member, much like the clenching of a rectum.

Of a living body.

The moan was incredibly low, and only that taxed arsehole caught Brolli's attention. But the head lolled undetectibly to one side. Brolli paused, panting in his face. "Pa... Pop."

He detected a faint sigh. So the old man was yet alive? Or perhaps the younger Saiyajin was hallucinating? Either way, he smirked and kissed a cheek before thrusting deeply into Pop's body. Then came another faint sigh and muted moan: "...Brolli...."

"Poor ol' Pop, what an unwelcome greeting! You expected better upon your arrival in Hell."

"Oh...." Well, he had seemed as close to dead as any corpse–no pulse and all that. Hadn't risen for three days, was quite injured and unresponsive. Still, this new infusion of life did not deter Brolli. He increased his speed and maintained the new rhythm. All the while, Pop became more awake, arching his back and moaning at the immediate sensations pulsing through him.

"Brolli!" His father finally gasped.

"Just a bit... more–ah! Yes, I'm there! I'm there!" Brolli arched his back and hips, his cock fitting its full length into the body, spewing into the tight aperture. Pop, on the other hand, gasped silently, his only eye squeezing tightly until his son's climax passed.

Brolli fell forward, his hands cupping around his father's cheeks. He littered that face with kisses and gazed into Pop's low-lidded eye.

"Have a nice journey?" he asked.

"Bu... Brolli?"

"Disorientated much?" Brolli chuckled. "Make no mistake, this isn't quite Hell, but... it might as well be. Hn, hn!"

The man beneath him lay puzzled for only a moment. Beneath those overly-affectionate lips, he moaned, "Bu... Brolli.... What have you done to me? Why am I..." Brolli sat on his heels so that Paragus could sit up himself. "Why am I not dead?"

"Oh, Pop, I'd never let you go so easily."

Finally the older Saiyajin realised–remembered–and gasped. "You! You were the one who... who..."

"What?" His son cocked his head, face dangerously close to his. Brolli genuinely remembered nothing, but that did not allow for his aggression to waiver. Paragus merely sighed and reclined. His son smiled and lay his chin on his chest. The older Saiyajin shifted in discomfort beneath his naked son.

A strong, fatherly hand reached for Brolli's wild locks and fondled them. "I wouldn't, for all the world, ask. I seriously don't want to know...."