Through My Eyes

Turles watched 17 carry their prey to the back yard of the latter's cabin, effortlessly lifted up by its legs. He was much stronger than his sinewy build suggested.

After having alerted 18 about the other Saiyans and the full moon, 17 carefully skinned the deer, scraping and preparing the hide to be tanned while Turles cut the meat.

When he asked why 17 replied, "I sell the skins. I waste nothing." There was enough venison for both of them, and 17 took the by-products to the edge of his yard, making odd calling sounds. Within minutes a large mountain lion came running and devoured the scraps, then rubbed happily against 17's legs before scurrying off.

They cleaned off their hands at the outside hose and Turles showed 17 the fruits and mushrooms he'd gathered. 17 nodded but took a handful of the brightly colored mushrooms and tossed them away.

When Turles frowned 17 explained, "I don't advise eating those, unless hallucinating is your thing. Some can be deadly."

"Oh. I guess you know your planet's food supply," Turles admitted, though felt dumb to have almost eaten poison.

"Good job on finding all the Morrells though," 17 told him cheerfully, "They were always me and my sister's favorite." His smile faded as soon as it appeared.

Why do you live so far from her?" Turles inquired, "If you found a mate, you could start a family as well."

"Why, to watch them get old and die while I'm stuck forever in the body of an adolescent?" 17 said dryly.

"Hm. You might like Fasha," Turles suggested, "She's… what was that word Gohan said?… a babe," he remembered.

Thanks, but I'd rather live alone," 17 closed the subject, "C'mon, you gotta get inside before the sun sets." They brought all the food into the house and washed their hands with soap.

17 took care to close the wooden shutters, the window blinds and curtains to block out any stray moonbeams, then they went to work preparing the food. As they did so, they each told their stories.

"But you must have had real names before you became Androids," Turles inquired.

"We don't remember them." 17's face hardened though his expression did not change. "We don't remember anything before that, and no one was looking for us that we know of." The knife he used to slice the mushrooms sliced harder and faster. Turles watched to make sure no blood spilled onto them, but 17 was very adept with the knife and none did. "So, what was Hell like?" he asked to change the subject, "The unearthly one, I mean."

"Most of our memories of it were erased, but we know we have no wish to return," Turles replied, frowning at 17's stony expression. He didn't understand why 17's dark mood disturbed him, but it did nonetheless. "I do remember the Ginyu Force. I definitely never want to see them again because they drove me nuts."

"What did they do?" 17 asked, his air of interest inspiring Turles. He told him all about them, and though comedy wasn't his forte, he proceded to imitate a caricaturized replica of their dance, including their voices.

"…Animal Force!" he concluded with a less than graceful pirouette and squat, which made 17 laugh so hard he nearly choked on an apple slice. Turles tapped him firmly on the back until it dislodged. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to kill you."

"No problem." 17 took a drink of water to wash it down, his pale cheeks having reddened somewhat. Turles withdrew his hand, wondering at the strange tingling he felt at having touched him. It was the first time he'd touched anyone outside of combat since he could clearly remember, so he thought not of it.

Dinner was ready soon afterward, and they ate in comfortable silence. Each was reflecting that the other wasn't bothersome at all as he'd feared. Neither of them were talkative and annoying like most of them at Capsule Corp, so the night should pass easily. Turles commented that he'd never eaten anything as good as the venison and Morrells; it was even better than the fancy, expensive food he'd eaten for lunch at the Briefs'.

17 watched in surprise at the amount of food he ate. "But where do you put it?" he asked, "Your stomach can't be that big."

"I don't know." Turles had never thought about it. "Maybe we just burn it off quickly. I'm not used to having a body anymore, either."

"That would be disorienting," 17 agreed. When they finished, they washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, then 17 showed him the rest of his cabin. It was small and 17 did not have much, but it was sufficient for him. His mismatched furniture, video game console, and walls adorned with posters of sports cars, rock bands, and anime made the place look more like it belonged to a college student, but it fit him. Having not much formal education, he was self-educated. Such people were often more intelligent than most formally educated people, as most of them only blindly absorbed the material dictated by their textbooks to reapeat like trained parrots.

"I'm not known for my hospitality," 17 told him, "But the couch is more comfortable than it looks, and it almost matches your cape."

"It will do fine," Turles replied, "I usually sleep out--" His speech was cut off by a terrible cramp that had him almost doubled over, his eyes watering.

"What's the matter?" 17 looked uneasily at the window in the living room and the one in the kitchen, but no moonlight shone in.

"I guess I'm not used to eating anymore," Turles managed when he could speak. That wasn't the problem at all, but he would be damned, again, before he told the truth.

"But, that didn't happen after you ate lunch, did it?" 17 asked in confusion. Turles shook his head. "We ate nothing unusual. Why don't you take your shower, then? I'll make some of that tea my sister gave me. It might help."

Turles doubted it but agreed. Anything to get out of sight, fast.

He followed 17 to his small bathroom and waited. Shortly the latter returned from his bedroom with a clean towel and washcloth, black Red Ribbon undershorts, and lightweight navy blue pyjama pants with a surprisingly matching T-shirt and bathrobe. He showed Turles the shower gel, shampoo, and hot and cold water knobs.

"Okay. Th… thanks." He practically pushed 17 out of the bathroom and shut the door, and the mere fact of touching his back was devastating.

Quickly and clumsily his shaking hands tugged off his snug-fitting armor and spandex, not surprised that he was almost fully hard now. It was no ordinary heat cycle, and he'd had no idea of how he would react to the full moon other than the usual transformation, but was quickly finding out.

Hastily he turned on the shower spray, finding the right temperature before stepping under it. When the next cramp hit him, his knees gave out, hitting the tub with a dull thud.

"No," he groaned in protest, willing it away. Not now...

"Do you need help, Turles?" 17's concerned voice called from outside the door.

"No!" he yelled, louder than he'd intended. His hand strayed between his legs to carefully stroke his already throbbing hardness, biting his lip to keep from screaming. It wasn't exactly a cramp, but the ache in his loins was unbearable. He swore he would pass out soon and would practically sell his soul for release.

Turles bit his other hand to keep from making noise, hoping the water muffled the ones that escaped him. In the past he'd only had female lovers, and not many. It was enough of a shock that it was 17 in his thoughts… how he longed to touch that beautiful, silky black hair that he'd only brushed by accident, to kiss those lips, don't even mention his body. More than that, the magnetic, hypnotic aura about him, and he just had to remember that sexy, predatory look on his face when he'd had him in shooting sight… this wasn't normal. Was it? It was all happening so fast.

Turles fell foreward in the position in which he imagined himself, stroking his leaking shaft harder. 17. Dear gods, he needed him in the worst way. He needed for him to… to… "Fuck me." His eyes opened wide at the words he'd moaned aloud, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

17 had what it took, he could feel it. The charisma of a dominant was more important than physical strength, 17 just happened to have both. His eyes half shut and unfocused, his lips parted in halting pants, too far gone for shame of his thoughts of being bound and punushed while 17 took him as he pleased… with a final groan Turles spent himself so hard he thought he would pass out, not moving for several minutes before he stood up on unsteady legs, quickly washed up head to toe, then turned the spray on ice cold and forced himself to stand under it.

Go away, he willed the invading thoughts, Just go away. But despite his release, one obsessive thought overpowered the rest, every fiber of his being screaming, 17!

*
TBC in chapter 5…