Chapter 1

" Damn you, uh..Namekian, uh!"

I can taste him on my lips. The salt—he's salty. But I like this about him. That flavor—his flavor, the one I can't seem to get enough of anymore. And he's tried to wean me off. He'd claim this was the last time. That I could never see him but a month later, he'd straddle my waist and kiss me all over again. And I wouldn't turn him away. I couldn't—even if I tried really hard.

"The last time, you green freak. I swear it!"

He can't stop seeing me. Not after all this. There will be a break but eventually, he'll return—like he always does. And like a fool, I'll take him back. I'll bring him to this waterfall out in the middle of nowhere. He'll sit on my lap and kiss me hard and long. His hands will tug and yank on my antennas just as I push my cock inside of him. I'll take my time, sliding in slow, allowing his tight muscles to feel every inch of me. It's what I'm doing to him right now and what we'll continue to do.

"I want to see you tomorrow. So, this can't be the last time," I tell him with a slight tease to my husky tone.

"You idiot, I'm…uh…" I watch his head bow. He leans against the nape of my neck. I can hear his breathing quickening as his fingers clench my left shoulder. I'm aware of what my slow tempo is doing to him. "Uh, Namekian... we can't…I can't…not anymore."

"Listen Vegeta," my hand finds his chin to lift his head slightly. He looks into my eyes. The expression is beautiful on him. Only when we're here, do I ever see a look like this. I doubt anyone but me has ever seen it before.

"Don't say that. It bothers me."

The tenderness in his eyes vanishes. What I just said seemed to spoil everything. He suddenly lifts to stand and to me, his naked body appears more perfect. At full length, I notice certain details: like the outline of his muscular legs and the slight curve of his waist. I can see the scars on his shoulder blades and as he looms over me, it seems the bushy, dark hair around his cock is a sharp contrast to his pale skin. I can't stop from wondering sometimes, if anyone else has ever seen all of him. Or am I the only one who has had the satisfaction?

"Fuck what bothers you. I have my own burdens," he sneers, "Damn it, I knew I should have never started with you in the first place."

I toughen myself. If I don't do this, I must admit, his words would forever tear me apart. "She wasn't enough. That's why you started with me."

His nostrils flare quickly. I witness the anger in his pupils. I swear, if his eyes could shoot daggers, I'd have several lodged in my chest.

"Leave her out of this!"

"Why?" I challenge him because I know I can.

"She is not your concern," he warns me.

I don't speak anymore. I should have known better than to mention her but I wanted to exert myself—to teach him not to say certain things to me. It always backfires. I lose somehow and he certainly wins. Besides, in the past, when I mentioned Bulma's existence, I was guaranteed a few months of loneliness. I'm pretty sure we won't meet up tomorrow. Still, I want to try my luck.

"Anyway, was it good?" I ask. I'm still seated upright on the ground. His eyes are searching mine.

He grumbles, "It would have been if your mouth kept itself shut!"

I nod, "I won't say anything about her anymore."

"Good."

"So, tomorrow?" I pressure.

"No," is his sharp reply, "no more."

"One more time."

"No," he repeats more firmly than before.

"Why?"

I watch him as he steps away. His clothes are on the ground. The cold water, that surrounds us, drenched his pants and shirt. Still, he wears the blue skin-tight uniform. I take a moment to burn this image of him into my memory—especially if this really is our very last time. Normally, I don't believe him but the way he said no to me is much different than the other times.

"You know why."

"It never stopped you before," I explain coarsely.

"Fuck you, Namekian."

He flies off to leave me at the waterfall. I watch the yellow streak of his ki illuminate the dim sky. I can't admit it. Not to anyone. Not even to myself. But the truth is, I want him. For awhile now, I've wanted him. And it all started because of her—Bulma. There was no connection between them. Their bond was centered on the birth of their son and being on a foreign plant for so long, he was bound to bend to their customs—being married, being a husband, being a father, being faithful.

He didn't want these things. If he did, he didn't want them with her. And so I was there. I was there in the middle of it all. I'd watch him spar by himself—alone and hidden from everyone but me. I knew he could sense me. I never suppressed my ki. And he never insisted I leave his presence.

So, I'd watch him from afar. I'd watch the sweat drip down his face and body. I'd feel the surge of his ki as he destroyed the landscape around us. The more I saw him, the more I could not turn away. And I believe, the more he sensed me, the more he was unwilling to deny his feelings. Besides, I was giving him everything she wasn't—freedom, power, and attention.

And because of that, I don't think he can stay away. Very slowly, I lift from the ground. My clothes were tossed against the tree, so I pick up the shirt and pants and dress in silence. Normally, this is worst part of it all. When he leaves, I realize the full authority he has over the situation. He comes and goes when it is convenient for him. He uses every inch of me for his own pleasure.

I think it is time for a change…

...Review please if you would like me to continue.