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Those Eyes	By : Kuro Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 6729 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Yamcha looked at Vegeta fearfully, paralyzed by the look in the Saiyajin no Oji�s eyes. His whole body shook as he stood transfixed by his gaze. Those eyes, those obsidian orbs... They were frightening, but there was something else about them. Something handsomely captivating. It was probably for this reason, not the fear, that Yamcha remained standing idiotically motionless beside his bed. True, he was scared out of his mind, but deep inside there was a burning tranquillity.
The Oji was sitting on the windowsill, silhouetted by the waning moon. It was a humid August night, and Yamcha knew just what Vegeta wanted. It was all routine; the Oji would pop in silently and beat poor Yamcha until he could no longer stand or move. These nighttime meetings, though they had long since become passé, never failed to scare the shit out of Yamcha. Every night, he vowed he would stand up to Vegeta. But night after night, he would lose what little amount of bravado he had collected up. When Vegeta transfixed him with those eyes, those jet-black orbs void of any emotion like two stone marbles, he lost all courage he had at that moment. But not tonight. No, tonight would be different. Tonight he was going to stand up for his rights, no matter how small and insignificant they were. He shook off the paralysis and swallowed hard, narrowing his eyes into hard slits. He put on an angry glared and puffed out his chest; though he doubted his shaking knees were helping any. He bit down on his lower lip and took a step forward.
"V-Vegeta, listen up. I...I won�t be your punching bag anymore. G-go find some other way to vent your anger." he said, his voice cracking with fear.
Vegeta�s lips, which until then had been tightly pursed into a thin line, drooped down into a frown as he furrowed his brow. Yamcha took a step back, bumping against the edge of his bed, fearing he had said too much. But then, Vegeta�s lips curved upwards into a small grin. He swung his legs around off the windowsill and stood up, stepping close to Yamcha until they were an inch apart. He raised his right hand, taking hold of Yamcha�s chin. He tilted Yamcha�s face to the right, the then to the left, only pausing to periodically run the fingers of his left hand over the scars on Yamcha�s face. He re-centered Yamcha�s face, piercing the quivering man with a sinister sneer. He took a large step back, pulling Yamcha with him. His eyes flashed angrily, his grip on the human�s facehtenhtening immensely. Yamcha winced, fearing that his jawbone would be crushed by the saiyajin�s powerful grip. Then Vegeta let go, a creepy sneer spreading across his features. Yamcha looked fearfully at Vegeta, afraid of what was going to happen.
"Get down." Vegeta hissed.
"W-what?" Yamcha blinked.
"Now. Get down on your hands and knees." he spat.
Yamcha slowly dropped to his hands and knees. Vegeta walked around to the back and Yamcha braced himself for the impending blow. He squeezed his eyes shut, wound his fingers into the carpet, and tensed every muscle in his body as if it would soften the kick he was going to get for mouthing off. His shaking body was already covered in numerous cuts and bruises from the previous encounters of that week. It wasn�t quite a nightly basis Vegeta came; he only did so when he was seriously pissed off. Incidentally, it turned out to be more like every other few nights. But whenever Yamcha was falling into real bad shape, or if the wounds were getting far too apparent, Vegeta would ease up for a week. But when he deemed it fit to resume the first few beatings were often pretty severe, due to all the anger Vegeta hand been withholding.
But no matter how angry he Saiyajin no Oji got, he never ever hit Yamcha�s face. He had once said, while stroking the human�s fabled scars, that Yamcha had too nice a face to damage any further. At first, this had creeped Yamcha out for a few moments, but then Vegeta reassured him of his sexuality by kneeing Yamcha arduously in the gut. So Yamcha figured that Vegeta was just saying that, that the true reason was that bruises and such on the face would be all too obvious. People got suspicious and nosy when they saw that sort of thing, and were bound to ask questions. There was a great possibility Yamcha would end up blurting something out, totally spilling the beans; and that was just what Vegeta didn�t want to get out. Yamcha was very good at convincing himself of these things.
He opened his eyes slowly, a little confused as to why nothing had happened yet. If Vegeta wasn�t going to kick him, then why...?
There was the rustle of fabric and then a soft whisper as a pair of pants hit the floor. Yamcha�s body went rigid as he slowly put the pieces together. Vegeta placed his hands on the waistband of Yamcha�s pajama bottoms, yanking them down forcefully, the bunched material nestling around the crooks of his knees. Yamcha knew he should run, or at least crawl, away. But for some reason, he found himself unable to move. It was as if his hands and knees were cast in cement. Vegeta ran his hands over Yamcha�s bare ass and down his thighs. Yamcha shivered, but not out of pleasure. Vegeta ran his fingers up and down Yamcha�s spine and then, without any warning, gripped his shoulders and gave his hips a powerful thrust, forcing himself into Yamcha. The scarred warrior screamed audibly as Vegeta tore into him, pain firing through his senses like a rocket. He clawed at the carpet seeking escape, but Vegeta kept him pinned. His thrusts and pumps were violent, jagged, and seriously misaimed. They scraped and tore at his inner walls, causing excruciating pain. He howled and screamed, but Vegeta did nothing to correct his course. It was almost as if he were doing it on purpose. Yamcha screamed and tore at the carpet with his nails, utingting large chunks as Vegeta raked his nails down Yamcha�s back, marring the skin something awful to match the abused floor. Blood rolled down the Z fighter�s back and between his buttocks, adding to the blood already pouring out of his ass. Vegeta�s breathing became erratic and he anchored his nails deep into Yamcha�s back, relying more on the human to support his weight rather than his own legs. Yamcha�s arms burned and ached, every fiber of his being asking for st. st. He was so sore and tired, he just couldn�t take it. If he hadn�t opened his mouth...if he hadn�t tried to stand up to him...even a beating would be ten times better than this shit.
Yamcha groaned; Vegeta�s thrusts were more powerful now, which did not bode well as they were still quite miss-angled. Behind him, Vegeta screamed loudly and a blast ofrgy rgy fired up as the Oji kicked into his super saiyajin state. This had to be the worst torment Yamcha had ever been put through. The wounds were searing and painful, despite all the lubrication the blood provided. Vegeta dug his nails in a little deeper and then pulled them out, tearing out ten good-sized chunks of flesh. He yelled, orgasming forcefully in, and some out, of Yamcha. Yamcha�s arms gave out and he lay on the ground, crying like a child. Vegeta stood up, exhaling shakily as he walked over to his pants and pulled them up, his bright aura still illuminating the room. He pulled on his shirt and drew a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket. He dispensed one and placed it in his mouth, holding his fingers up and using the heat from a small energy ball to light up the tip. He took a deep draw and crouched down next to Yamcha, breathing a cloud of smoke into his face.
"Now, human scum, do you see the relevance of this? Of course you don�t. I can see it in your eyes. You are not intelligent enough to understand. What I am trying to show you is that there are much worse things than being beaten up on occasion. At least things like that will make you stronger. This, however, will most likely turn you further into your homosexual ways." he smirked unctuously. He stroked the scar on Yamcha�s cheek and then gave him a stinging slap. "Now, have you learned what speaking you mind does, especially if you haven�t a mind to speak?" he asked, taking another drag. Yamcha winced and nodded very slowly.
Vegeta smirked in response and ruffled his hair. "Good."

He turned to the windowsill and cast one long glance at Yamcha before jumping out into the blotted darkness of the night. Yamcha lay on the floor, not wanting to move due to the humility and pain he was in. He didn�t even have the energy to crawl to the bathroom and clean up. And so he fell asleep, covered by a gruesome blanket of his blood and Vegeta�s essence.

*

Yamcha didn�t move for three full days. For one, after his �encounter�, he had blacked out for an entire day and two, he was so weighted down by his emotions that he couldn�t lift a finger. He wished Pu�ar were still with him; she had left around the times the beatings started. But it wasn�t like it was an inevitable thing; Yamcha could have made her stay. She had told him that unless he told someone about Vegeta, she was leaving. She had said that she no longer felt safe around him, and that although she worried about him nonstop, she had to think of her own safety. He didn�t do anything, of course, and so she left. Yamcha didn�t know where she went exactly, but he figured it was somewhere along the lines of Master Roshi�s. She always went there when she needed a break. She was too protective towards Yamcha to leave him completely. Or so he hoped.

Around the third day of laying in his own filth, he figured he should get up, take a shower, and get changed. He struggled upright and lumbered into the bathroom, kicking off the dirty pajama pants that hung around his ankles. He turned on the water and listened to it patter down softly before the full realization of what happened three days ago sunk in. His eyes widened and he stumbled back.

"Oh shit." he uttered shakily.

He needed to wash away the filth. He needed to cleanse his body of the cum and blood. He needed to wash off Vegeta�s musky scent. He bailed into the shower and cranked the knob all the way to to hot. He reached up and grabbed hold of the shower head, aiming it directly at his body. At first the water was scalding hot, and it seared Yamcha�s skin. But it was worth it; he needed to be clean. He scrubbed the soap all over his burning body, and poured almost the entire bottle of shampoo into his hair. He lathered it up, panting heavily. For not only was it impossibly hard to breathe in the shower, but also his heart was pounding so erratically that he needed to take quick, shallow breaths just for his body to keep up. He spun around, the water scorching his face. He quickly rethought that maneuver and turned back around, taking special care to thoroughly clean his backside, not matter how much the soap and water burned seared the wounds as they permeated the tiny cuts and rips on the inner walls. By the time he ran out of hot water, two hours later, he simply stood in the shower to let the freezing water cool him off and soothe his burns. He dragged himself out after only a few seconds, as it was hurting more than helping. It seemed that every drop aggravated the burns as they struck his tortured skin. When he finally stepped out, every square inch of his skin was a vivid scarlet shade and pretty much cover with heat blisters and burns. But he felt clean now...so clean. He shook a small bottle of powder on his body and smiled weakly at his burned reflection. He stumbled into his bedroom, pulling on a loose pair of sweatpants as he curled up on top of the covers, feeling as though his body temperature was hot enough to melt steel. As he lay on the bed, whining as the familiar feelings of depression and shock began to worm their way back into his mind. He swallowed hard and began to sob, tears forming and dripping down his face. Fear raged through his mind. If Vegeta decided to show up tonight...the beating, or dare he think worse, would hurt more than anything; what with his burned and wounded body. As it was, he had to sleep on his stomach. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the pillow, hoping that when he woke up, this would all have turned out to be a dream. He prayed to Kami-sama that when he woke up, he would still be with Bulma, and that none this had or would happen; that it would all have been just a garish nightmare.....

****

((Well, that�s the end of chapter one. You like it? Let me know in a review! I�ll be sure to write more soon if the public desires. Until next time, Ja ne!))
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Those Eyes