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Mind Rape	By : MutantPoptart Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 18434 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own or intend to profit from any of the themes or characters taken from the Dragonball Z franchise and used in this story.

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Safe Hands

Everything ached.
Inside him… outside. He couldn’t place the source of the aching because it wasn’t confined to a central location. Everything seemed to throb and sting and groan with each passing breath—the breath itself pained him, forcing his lungs and rib cage to expand and pulling at what felt like thousands of tears and cracks in his interior structure. The strain was enough to confine him to clipped and shallow breaths.
Through the constant, dull ache, arose a permeating pain.
This one definitely came from deep inside. Only it seemed to be burrowing its way to the surface, like a slow, diligent spear.
Unlike the aching that was a constant backdrop to his murky consciousness, this more active pain came it waves. Each cycle jerked his sore, battered body into a hysterical frenzy, making the subtle aching erupt into full blown agony all over him. Something held him, kept him from escaping it, wrapped around him, forcing him to feel every piercing inch as the distinctive pain tore and dissected him.
As the waves of pain rose to their peaks, they were interrupted by small sporadic pricks of heat that would twist his discomfort into something almost tolerable and rattle him to the core. They were only brief occurrences though and he would quickly cool down again before getting back to the familiar pain.
When it wasn’t the intrusive pain or endless ache, it was the numbing blackness, but even there Vegeta found no reprieve.
Through the heavy dark emerged a glowing pair of blood-red eyes, still and unblinking, always on him. Prying carelessly. Smiling mirthlessly. Vegeta felt nothing in the suffocating dark, but he couldn’t escape those eyes, always watching him.
It was almost with open arms that he welcomed back the ache as he came slowly out of the blackness and sluggishly regained more of his senses.
The smell of pine came first, filling his nostrils and lungs with its spicy scent. Then came the distant calls of birds as if from outside a window. His eyes were slowest to rouse and for a long time only picked up fuzzy light from beneath his drooping eye-lids. At all times, however, when he wasn’t swallowed in the blackness, he could feel.
He felt the gentle heat from the sun on his skin and the wind whisking through his hair. He bathed in the cozy warmth of what felt like cotton sheets swathed around him. He felt cool trickling of water pouring over his hair, weighing it down so the thick strands draped down his back. More than anything else however, more than even the aching in his body, Vegeta felt hands.
With each emergence from the black depths, the aching in his body dulled and he seemed to gain a firmer grasp of his surroundings, and with that, a clearer awareness of a pair of hands, large and sure, lifting him, arranging him, guiding him. The touch never left him. The only time he didn’t detect the hands’ presence was when he’d lapsed back into the blackness. At first, he was wary of them, awaiting the moment they would add to his pain, but they never did.
On the day that his legs had regained enough balance and fortitude to carry a portion of his own weight, he felt the ticklish spikes of grass beneath his feet and those lingering hands guiding him gently by the waist. His feet then met a shock of cold submerging them to the ankles, belatedly alerting his mind that he’d been lead into water. He was guided further until the cold swirling sensation came up to his calves, and then the gentle hands arranged him upright against what felt like a large boulder.
From there, the hands left him completely, only to return moments later and begin spreading a soothing coolness everywhere they went. Vegeta deduced they were pouring water on him.
The hands swathed up this arms and down his chest, exploring him freely with a cleansing touch, yet seeming to know where to take caution.
He came to know the hands, like they were their own entity. He began to attach characteristics to his caretaker based on the touch alone. He judged that he was safe with this stranger by the warmth and care in the way the hands touched him.
The touch was not controlling or coarse but soft and light. The hands glided over him with an easy familiarity as if they knew Vegeta’s body well. They traced the contours of his form as if following well-traveled pathways. It was almost with adoration the way they gingerly lifted his arms to rinse beneath, and how they dipped between each of his fingers to clean the tender webbing.
He found himself relaxing into the touch, shoulders falling back against the rock.
His companion knew him-- had to. The way the pads of the fingers found and pressed against his aches, soothing them instantly, and the way they only grazed over the more intimate areas of his body, taking the utmost care, eluding his sex until absolutely necessary, as if to save him his dignity.
There was reverence in the contact, respect. The touch was kin and although Vegeta hadn’t felt such a thing in a long time, he hadn’t forgotten.
Slowly, his weary eyes cracked open.
He had to see whose hands were on him. In his bones he already knew, but he needed to be certain.
The day burned white in his shocked retinas but Vegeta blinked and grimaced through the brightness.
He knew when his eyes sorted through the hazy bright shapes what he would find kneeling at his feet clad in orange and blue. He also knew that the large, gentle hands still gliding over him would be attached to strong, muscular wrists wrapped in weighted cloth bands. He knew when the bowed head tilted back that it would be the purest onyx staring up at him from beneath unruly dark locks. He knew it so well he couldn’t breathe.
Still, he needed to see.
As his eyes adjusted with infuriating slowness to the glaring daylight and he blinked away the gauze of his long rest, Vegeta found himself caught in an entirely different gaze, one not of deep, enveloping onyx but of bold, staggering red.
Vegeta froze.
From a lone blot of shade amid the blazing plane of white light, the two red eyes stared out at him.
They were the same eyes that found Vegeta no matter how deeply he drifted into the blackness.
The nightmare came flooding back at once. It was Bow. He was watching them. Watching him.
Vegeta’s body reacted on its own, revolting against the being at his feet, trying to edge away from those hands that at first felt so welcome and familiar but had now been warped into slimy extensions of Bow.

One Week Earlier

If Buu had muscles or bones they would have been stiff and creaking with the strain of holding himself so still and upright for so long.
He didn’t move and didn’t blink. When a bird landed on his antenna on the morning of the second day, he didn’t flinch. He was as still as a stone statue.
Then he heard it. Without a second’s pause, he charged into action. The source of the cry wasn’t far from the hut, only just beyond the trees of the surrounding forest.
When his eyes found the figure in the dirt, Buu’s body turned to lead and he couldn’t move.
The nearly unrecognizable creature writhed as it dragged itself across the ground. The smudged and scraped body was naked except for shreds of navy blue clinging pathetically around his hips and out from his boots as if the clothes had been ripped from his limbs. The gloved hands dug deep gouges in the soil as he pulled himself forward.
Grasping the slight frame by the shoulders, Buu rolled the man into his arms. Anguished gasps and choked sobs fell from dry, bruised lips and the glassy eyes that had once been so guarded now gazed up at him with naked horror.
All at once, Buu fell apart. Words poured from his mouth in a tumultuous cascade.
He’d led Bow to him. He’d caused this. Of course he’d known Bow would follow him, and when Buu had left the cave and its sole occupant utterly exposed and unguarded, he’d known Bow would go in. But he hadn’t meant for this; at the time he was just so furious...
The moment his eyes had fallen upon the Dragon Balls, he’d lost himself to emotion. He thought it was rage but now he understood. In that moment, what he’d really felt was pain beyond anything he’d ever known-- beyond anything he’d thought himself capable. He couldn’t bear the thought of Vegeta wanting him dead, because the truth was-- and Buu hadn’t been able to face it until now as the words tumbled from his mouth-- that he could never kill Vegeta. The Saiyan meant too much.
So, blinded by his pain, Buu let himself believe Bow would only beat him a little, throw him around like he’d done the day they’d abolished The Lookout.
But he hadn’t known… hadn’t wanted…
He couldn’t stop saying he was sorry. As he rocked Vegeta’s small, dollish body in his arms, the ancient mutant began to feel, for the first time, a strange stinging in his eyes.
After securing the Dragon Balls, Buu carried Vegeta’s wilted body to the lake behind the hut. There, he peeled away what was left of his clothes and submerged him in the cool water. For a long time, Buu rubbed at the clammy skin until it was streaked with angry red marks.
Buu wanted to shake the Saiyan, rouse him into coherence, demand to know every detail of what had happened since the moment Bow entered the cave. Then he would scrub raw every surface the fledgling had touched, no matter how deep. He told himself he didn’t care if it hurt Vegeta. He needed to be cleaned.
The weak yelps of protest went ignored as Buu vehemently scoured each limb, lost in his own fantasies of vengeance. The raven mane was mangled and matted with a strange crusty substance. Buu had to tug and yank to detangle it. It wasn’t until he pulled back on the thick tresses to wash Vegeta’s face that Buu noticed the glistening streaks that lined the muddied cheeks, and he paused.
He was more gentle after that. The Saiyan had suffered enough. It was now Buu’s role to ensure no more harm came to him, least of all by his own hand.
Vegeta didn’t wake that night but he didn’t seem to sleep either. Buu watched him from across the room, fearful of disturbing the Saiyan by getting too close but finding it innately impossible to leave him. He swallowed down the vengeful fire in his gut that had not diminished even slightly in the hours since finding the Saiyan. Watching the restless body, he told himself that Bow would have to wait.
Swathed in sheets on the bed Buu had fashioned, Vegeta’s chest heaved and muscles strained beneath flushed and gleaming skin.
Buu didn’t have dreams, not like mortals did, but from what he’d learned through his many transformations, he could guess that Vegeta was in one. Based on what he’d gathered, dreams could be farcical or borrowed from memory. He didn’t know all the details of what Vegeta had undergone in his time with Bow but he had a feeling that the Saiyan was reliving every wretched second beneath the fluttering eye-lids and knitted brow. Also telling were the awful scratchy gasps issuing from his gaping mouth that suggested the Saiyan would be screaming if he had the voice to do so.
Buu’s fists shook at his sides.
Bow could wait, he told himself again. Bow could wait.
The next day, Buu did his best to feed Vegeta from the roasted meat of a wild beast he’d found roaming the nearby woods. He seemed to accept it, chewing only the smallest scraps in his feverish state, but he didn’t heave it back up so that was good.
By the end of the third day, Vegeta still hadn’t awoken, but his energy seemed to be gathering, albeit at a laborious rate. Saiyan or not, this half-sleep would not aid his body’s healing, Buu knew.
Everyday Buu bathed and fed him, nursing him gradually back to moderate strength. On the fourth day, Buu’s patience was rewarded; in the morning, Buu led the groggy Saiyan out to the lake and was pleased to find that he was able to hold much of his own weight, shuffling on his feet with one arm slung over Buu’s neck. His eyes were sunken and vacant still and he murmured and grunted beneath his breath, but he seemed vaguely aware of Buu’s presence as he accepted his assistance.
It was a small miracle that Vegeta was able to remain propped up against the bolder Buu had leaned him on. It was a good sign. His strength was returning.
Buu may have been more gentle than necessary, but he felt he couldn’t take enough care with the feeble Saiyan.
Buu began with washing his upper body, letting his palms glide over the mounds and dips of the muscled chest and shoulders, before moving down to Vegeta’s legs.
Kneeling down, Buu ran his hands up the firm calves and thighs, taking special caution as he gingerly rinsed the soft scrotum. He’d been able to ward off any less-than-innocent desires in himself at the beginning with surprising efficiency. Something about finding Vegeta that way in the woods had effectively smothered his appetite. Then his subsequent role as care-giver had added an almost parental tone to their relationship. Protecting Vegeta had become the foremost priority in Buu’s mind. The last thing he wanted to do now was risk damaging the Saiyan in a way that might undo all the progress they’d made.
So, it was with genuine care and reverence that Buu’s hands glided over the goose-pimpled skin. He glanced up frequently, reading the Saiyan’s reactions, gauging whether to venture further or back off of a particularly vulnerable area. Vegeta was a frail and precious thing there and Buu felt a certain amount of privilege to be the one to see him so humbled and bare.
As he rinsed him, scooping up water in his hands and letting it stream down Vegeta’s reclined body, he got the sense the man was beginning to enjoy it. His disquieted grumbles turned into deep purrs and his body, which had been rigid and tense even while at rest, slackened against the rock. Buu hadn’t seen him so relaxed in all the time he’d been caring from him. Every day, the Saiyan seemed to be quietly reliving his time with Bow behind the wall of his half-consciousness, even attempting to push Buu away on the previous occasions he’d tried to bathe him, as if mistaking the senior mutant’s roaming hands for Bow’s.
This was a very welcome change. Seeing that fretted knot in the Saiyan’s brow smooth away gave Buu hope that Vegeta might have a full recovery.
Then Vegeta went suddenly stiff and Buu thought he’d rejoiced too soon.
“Vegeta, you’re fighting,” he soothed, gently grabbing and moving the small hands away as they began pawing deliriously at his head. When they didn’t let up as they normally did but began pushing at Buu in an energized fervor, the mutant noticed the Saiyan’s whole body was shaking.
Finally, Buu looked up and found that Vegeta’s eyes, which had been dull and hollow for days now were blown wide open and looked very much full of life.
“What is it?” Buu shot up and, noting where Vegeta’s large eyes were staring, turned his attention to the far side of the lake.
Bow was standing in the shade of the trees, watching them. The fledgling didn’t look like he wanted to interfere and Buu wasn’t about to leave Vegeta to go confront him, now that the Saiyan had finally regained consciousness.
“Don’t worry. Shhhh. Calm yourself,” he said, turning back to the frantic Saiyan and pulling him into his chest. “He won’t harm you.”
When he turned back again, Bow had left his place in the shadows, but hadn’t gone far; Buu could feel him just out of sight.
Later, Buu asserted. Later.
It wasn’t easy getting Vegeta to calm down after sighting Bow. As Buu set him down in the bed beneath the covers, the hysterical Saiyan continued breathing quickly and shallowly as if he’d been suffocated.
Buu held him a while longer, making soft shooshing sounds and stroking his hair until his breathing evened. Then the mutant rose to find the now roused Saiyan some food, debating briefly whether to take the stairs or to blast a hole straight through the floor. He decided on the stairs but flew so fast the walls shook.
Vegeta was finally awake. And what a sight to wake up to, Buu lamented as he bolted back into the bedroom with the bowl of very well done meat—charred black in a hasty over calculated blast-- topped haphazardly with a bunch of vegetation (Buu had begun tending a garden along the side of the hut upon reviewing Saiyan nutritional needs).
Though his eyes were open now, Vegeta seemed only half present, still reeling from the shock at the lake. He stared blankly at the sheets and didn’t resist as Buu tore up tiny pieces of meat and brought them up to his lips.

Over the next few days, Vegeta steadily reclaimed his motor skills and was able to feed and bathe himself with only minimal assistance from Buu, who was there within a breath’s notice at the slightest hint of distress or weariness in Vegeta’s demeanor.
Vegeta moved slowly and cautiously, mindful of every particle in his surroundings. Buu didn’t miss the defensive rise in his shoulders whenever he drew near. The watchful mutant waited for the protest, the bolt to flee but Vegeta quietly tolerated his aid.
Something in the mutant’s chest swelled every time Vegeta responded with a small hum or nod when addressed and when he even allowed Buu to help when he struggled to rise from the bed or when he sought food.
Buu had expected more of a fight when Vegeta had regained full cognizance, but the Saiyan remained complacent, docile even. It must have been a sobering realization when Buu had told him just how long he’d been out. Buu didn’t mention that in that time he’d assisted Vegeta with everything. He thought he saw the exact moment Vegeta had pieced it together though by the way all the color had seemed to drain from his face.
Maybe he’d resigned himself then. After all, what was the point of keeping up the pretense of modesty when Buu had seen all there was to see?
Despite the initial discomfort, Vegeta allowed Buu to continue nursing over him with little fuss.
Buu went on fetching water from the well and hunting for meat even after Vegeta could move around freely on his own. Although Vegeta was fully capable of bathing himself, Buu continued accompanying him to the lake. He never told Buu to turn away or attempted to cover himself as he stripped away the clothes Buu had made him and waded into the water, and he didn’t seem to mind that Buu stayed and watched on the shore.
Perhaps Buu had grown to take Vegeta’s silence as a consent more often than he should have. Maybe he’d gone so far as to mistake the outwardly stable appearance for a full recovery. Through whatever misstep, Buu had steadily come to the conclusion that Vegeta was ready for more than his remedial attention.
Buu's let his tongue snake into the deep, clenching orifice.
When Vegeta tensed and seemed to try to pull himself up the bed, hands clawing at the sheets, Buu told himself that the Saiyan was lost in pleasure and no longer in control of his reactions. His clawed hands pinned the thrashing thighs against the mattress and plundered Vegeta more deeply, spurred on by every twist and jerk of his hips.
Then, when the barking grunts thinned to quivering sighs and the bucking body went utterly still, leaving only the steady rise and fall of his breaths and the idle twitching of his fingers, Buu told himself that he’d exhausted the Saiyan with sheer stimulus and swelled with pride.
All the while, a familiar doubt crept in the back of his mind. Buu shoved it away with practiced ease. Vegeta wants this, he scolded the doubt. Look at the way he trembles.
Buu’s eyes raked over the sheen of sweat visible over the bare, curved ass and rippling back. Slowly and reluctantly he withdrew his tongue, relishing in the way Vegeta gasped as it left him, body clinging onto the last few inches. Buu hummed.
Sliding up Vegeta's drenched back, he buried his nose in the dark flame of hair. Buu could feel the strong back muscles twitching against his chest and abs.
“Vegeta,” he moaned, drunk with ecstasy. “Vegeta.” His prize.
Buu purred the name again and again and seemed to call more tremors out of the silent man beneath him.
Though Vegeta had healed greatly over the past weeks, his power had not fully returned. It didn’t matter though, the Saiyan wouldn’t fight him now; he wanted this.
The doubt loomed.
Buu shoved it back.
Buu had been so slow, so mindful. He’d taken his time and here was his reward for his patience: Vegeta laid bare and needy on the bed, Buu’s bed. It was the same bed that the Saiyan came willingly to each night since Buu had carried him out of the woods, discarded his sullied scraps of clothes, cleaned him and nursed him back to health. Vegeta didn’t leave him anymore, didn’t shoot off into the sky as he’d done at the close of so many long and torturous days spent together yet still so distant. Buu remembered how he used to dream of the day when the Saiyan would truly be his. He couldn’t have imagined, even then, that it would be so delicious.
It was time now. Buu would take him, make him his in a way that was always meant to be. Vegeta felt it too, Buu could tell. His slight frame vibrated in anticipation of it.
When Vegeta spoke up with a broken plea, Buu drank it in with a smile. The wanton Saiyan, so racked with pleasure, was calling for an end to his blissful suffering, begging Buu to take him quickly like they both needed. At least that’s what Buu heard.
Vegeta’s voice, though fully recovered in the weeks since his return, was now only weak from disuse and Buu had to lean down further to better hear, letting his hips rest against the pert ass.
“Please,” came the cracked voice again. “No more. I ...I can't.”
Buu froze for a moment, then jerked away as if Vegeta’s skin had become searing hot.
Lurid images flashed in his mind of the dark day he’d followed a cry into the woods to find a horror he’d never imagined. Something in his gut clenched tightly and didn’t let go.
Had he let himself forget so easily?
It had been three weeks since Buu had found Vegeta and brought him back. The bruises and scuffs had all faded and his energy was building up quickly. But what of the other wounds, the ones Buu couldn’t see?
He’d let himself be blinded by his own impatient desire to pick things up where they’d left off but now, as he looked down over the stripped and quavering body beneath him, his vision was finally clear.
Strong Saiyan teeth clenched down hard behind quivering lips, as if to cage in the cries. Formidable limbs, which had surely recovered enough strength to struggle, lay limp and lifeless on the mattress. The subtle erratic trembling that was neither from rapture nor chill racked the bare figure from head to toe. Most alarming of all were the glistening dark eyes, deep an intelligent, once home to a natural perceptiveness and endless defiance, which now only stared into the wall with naked despair.
Buu felt like he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. As the cold reality of the situation sunk in, he realized what had been creeping in the back of his mind for so long.
It was time to find Bow.

A/N: Thank you guys for your patience and your very thoughtful reviews. We're closing in on the end of the story so I'm trying to get these chapters out as quickly as possible. Sorry for the cliff hangers! I don't mean to be cruel! I'll try to be more mindful of those. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll be posting the next one soon!
Another shoutout to my wonderful beta, Rush! Thanks for keeping me in line, awesome lady!
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Mind Rape