Chapter Text
“If you leave another mark on me, Kakarot... so help you,” the snarl came as a breathy warning against the accused man’s ear. Those guilty teeth threatened his skin almost immediately—despite the warning—to do exactly opposite of what was being asked, almost as if he had challenged him instead. What a typical thing of him, to lace his response with such cheekiness. Between his bold, grazing nips, he parted his lips and dipped his warm tongue into the curve of his neck. How difficult it was to tell him to not leave marks…
“Sorry,” the muffle at his throat left a vibration against his bare skin that made him shiver, despite being warm. So warm. Too warm. The hands on his body left fire where they touched. Large fingers pressed into his sides, gripping his ribs and drawing his body closer. Succumbing to it was an admission of guilt; and he curled an arm up to snake it around him, tracing his fingers along the thick muscles drawn tight along his back—between his shoulders.
Everything about it was horrendously wrong. Everything from who it was, to how it happened. But those factors did nothing at all to deter either of them. His stifled lazy apology didn’t hold even the slightest bit of a remorseful tone and he certainly didn’t hesitate at all in what he was doing. Vegeta himself didn’t have the presence to stop it, either. The difficulty in feeling the weight of the wrong they were committing, landed somewhere in a hazy, forgotten place between sheets they once occupied—tangled and lost, with little hope to be found.
He should have stopped him at the door, but he didn’t.
Of course, this wasn’t the first time, so the damage had long since been done, with no chance to dial it back and rescue himself from stepping too far off the ledge.
Regret was just much weaker than the powerful arms around him.
“You’re not sorry at all,” he found his voice, keeping it low, just above a grunt—unable to raise it any higher without the threat of hearing his words break their pitch. He was having a fight for steady breath as it was and to lose his composure would be the death of him at face value. He could never allow it so easily, but it was slowly happening against his will. He was pressed beneath the bigger body, with his back flattened into the cool perfectly made bed beneath him. He hadn’t even made it into his bed, interrupted before he had the chance, by a knock at the door.
He knew what was on the other side. And he let him in. Even if he knew he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have let him in the first time. But when the door closed and those hands exposed him down to bare skin, and stripped his inhibitions off, he submitted to the mistake. He was lying in the bed he was making. Kakarot wasn’t sorry at all. But neither was he. This man wasn’t going to be around long enough for this to follow them. This was temporary.
This wasn’t his Kakarot anyway.
“Yeah, maybe not,” thick and warm, his growl filled his head and drowned everything else out until he forgot to think about consequences again.
“Dumb bastard,” he hissed at him, with so little venom in it, that it almost sounded like an endearment. It earned him the sharp sensation of teeth just shy of drawing blood—just enough to leave temporary impressions, that only he would see. He could feel the curved lips of his smirk and the immediate tongue that licked over the bruised spot, almost an apology, but one made in sarcasm. What a horrible person, honestly.
The marks his left in Kakarot’s back were more than a sufficient punishment in return, but this man didn’t complain a bit about it. Not once. Not since the first accidental time, and not when he did so on purpose to remind him that he had perfect control of his facilities. Drawn into the...fantasy of it...perhaps? Yes, but still, perfectly aware of reality. Just placing it aside. Leaving it on the floor where their clothes were abandoned.
The mass of the other body never felt that much more significant than his own before, but he’d never had his legs wrapped around his hips either. He’d never felt disadvantaged by his slighter build and still didn’t, but he was somewhat struck by the weight of him—the pressure of him, crushing him down and imprinting him into the mattress. His heels dug into the back of his thighs when they moved and he quickly found one of those large hands taking grip of one of his knees—fingers curled and nearly wrapped around the whole thickness of his calf once he had him where he wanted him. Had he always had hands this large?
Any thought like that vaporized as quickly as it entered his mind, when Kakarot turned his mouth down against his. Any snappy comments were suffocated in his throat and he allowed it. If he had objections, he could have bitten him—snarled and left blood on his lips, but he didn’t have it in him to object. His frustrations and impatience had caught up with him and left him too tired to turn it away.
The very presence of this body against him, and the feverish sense of...passion he felt, nearly sunk him with remorse for the sheer nature of their unrequited interest in each other. Rather, not each other. This wasn’t his Kakarot. He wasn’t his Vegeta. This Kakarot, who fell into their world from a parallel future timeline, was not coming from a world like his own. His world wasn’t like theirs, his past wasn’t even remotely the same to what their present was; Vegeta knew better than to try and compare. But to see the same unreturned, distance between them in the future, in their years beyond his timeline—deep interests gone completely unnoticed...it felt desolate.
They were waiting to go back, the two who slipped over from a timeline by a mistaken wish. If their dragon had been available, then this would never have happened. They could have sent them back immediately. Vegeta would never have spoken to him in a measure long enough to lead to the lapse in judgment he was continuously making. But the lapse in judgment was far more of a desperate need to fill a void that he otherwise may never see an opportunity for again. Kakarot, his own, had never picked up his intentions. This one, didn’t need to read any subtleties. He all but placed him against the wall himself.
How was he supposed to resist the opportunity he’d missed for so long, when he’d been starving for ages? They were clawing at each other’s image and using each other in the worst way; and his nails digging into his back and leaving fresh lines next to the fainter ones from a previous secretive excursion, proved that neither of them thought about the emotional backlash. Emotions weren’t part of the plan. Once this was over, they would never see each other again, and they would sweep it under and hopefully, they could finally be done with it. That was the plan, right?
Right?
He hoped that was the plan, because he was counting on that being the end of this. This older man, this parallel Kakarot was never going to be his and to try and substitute that was going to be a remarkable failure in coping with his obsession with his own oblivious version of the same man. How many years had been consumed by thoughts of this one stupid bastard?
His fingers curled in a mess of thick black hair at the passing thought of it, exhaling a heavy breath between what his mind was doing and the things this man was doing to his body. He pulled his hair and then sunk his fingers into his scalp with the sudden change in Kakarot’s rhythm. Kakarot noticed his body language—despite it being so subtle. Despite him barely breathing differently. For all he knew, Vegeta could have just been responding to the shifting of his hips and the occasional shudder of pleasure that hit him suddenly from how unevenly Kakarot would roll his body up against him. His larger stature made him so potentially overwhelming, but the power of him was everything he wanted.
Power was what he craved.
“You’re thinkin’ about me,” Kakarot breathed, tracing his tongue along the curl of his ear. Vegeta was prepared to snap back at him, only stopped by the groan that would escape him if he made any attempt to speak—instead he bared his teeth against his neck.
This Kakarot could notice this from just his subtle touch and breath; he could feel it in the way he moved in response to him. He noticed without barely any observation but a natural feeling…one that his own couldn’t catch on to with his blatant attempt to have him take notice. He couldn’t just come right out and speak it to his damn face, because then it might never be something he could recover from if it went poorly. This one understood that, far too well. This one experienced the same unbridgeable gap from the other side. It was remarkably uncomfortable to witness and to feel, knowing they would walk out of the room with passive faces like they never took their secrets to whole new levels of depraved.
“I hate you,” he muttered to him, but his tone wasn’t angry like it usually came off when he addressed Kakarot with his common levels of frustration. It was resigned.
“I wish you hated me a little more,” the response came back, with a similar tone, and Vegeta lamented that he understood what that meant. He hated so much that he knew what that meant in Kakarot language. His Vegeta didn’t give him enough attention, that even feeling more hated would probably feel like at least something more. The concept of it was dismal. He would have to become significantly jaded to ever lose at least his feverishly intense want to hate Kakarot.
“I’ll hate you plenty, so just shut up and make it count, clown,” he suddenly snarled at him, feeling pressure in his chest from the burst of emotion that hit him unexpectedly. He pulled his head back hard, by his hair, and nearly resigned to split his lip crushing his mouth down against his—uncaring about teeth.
Kakarot just caught his breath in between and buried Vegeta under him, “as you wish.”