(A/N: Yep, I can't believe I'm posting this thing at 2am. This is how much I love you all. As I said before, I am seriosuly considering revamping a few parts. I have so much more knowledge on the subjects of rape and it's psychological effects, pregnancy, and sex in general (none from expirience; most of it from psychocolgy class and a few gay friends), and I feel some parts are inaccurate. So bear with me while I fix those things. Also, my writin style has certainly changed and improved. Will I rewrite everything? No. Hell no. Just the parts that bug me/need work. So i guess you can gve me tips, but nothing harsh. like I said-- this work is dated by a few years XD Anyways, disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or the characters. Now read on!)

Four Months Later

Yamcha squatted by the toilet, his head hung over the bowl as he puked his guts out for the third time that day. His sides ached and begged for a reprieve, but his stomach didn't want to agree. All he had was dry heaves now, but his stomach continued to spasm out of spite. He shivered; retching and wheezing until he finally vomited a long strand of acrid bile that made dark bubbles burst in front his eyes. He slammed down the toilet seat, resting his head on the lid as he flushed the toilet. He stood up shakily and limped over to the sink, splashing water on his face as he rinsed out of his mouth. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to clear the spots the danced and swam in front of his vision. Once the dots faded away, Yamcha raised his head up, catching sight of his ghastly reflection in the mirror. The dark rings that lay settled under his eyes stood out brazenly against his pallid skin, the pale light casting odd shadows across his concave cheeks.

It had been pretty much the same deal day in day out. He'd get up, puke his guts out, and then lie back down while he wallowed in self-pity. He didn't really leave the house much now, and this was causing people were to worry about him. Goku, Kuririn, and hell; even Bulma had been by to see if he was really okay. They hung out with him for a day or two, after which they would make up some excuse and depart, leaving him alone again. He wished they would at least be straight up with him and tell them that they were sick and tired of him rather than making up some petty story to get away. But he supposed it was all his fault they left anyway. He was unbearable to be around; he wasn't afraid to acknowledge it. He would be all fine one moment, then snappy and indignant the next. Then, after he had calmed down, he would be curled up in a ball sobbing for no apparent reason. He was a few organs away from being a woman, for Kami-Sama's sakes! It was his personality that repelled people.

Aside from his emotional roller coaster, it was hell just trying to keep food down. But he had to attribute some of his sickness to his diet. He had been eating an awful lot of pancake batter and cookie dough. He was only feeding his cravings. He would have some Sake too, but he didn't feel like it for some reason. Drinking usually was a temporary solution to his problems but now, for some odd reason, even the mere thought of the alcohol made him want to barf. For that reason Yamcha didn't dare eat too much; only enough to sustain him so he wouldn't be constantly sick. His cheeks were beginning to hollow, and his lack of nourishment was starting to show; he certainly was thinner. But to counter his weight loss, he did sit-ups and push-ups to keep up his muscles and to keep his mind off the 'root problem'. Fear; fear, and stress.

It was the paranoia that was making him sick, he figured. He was so tired and terrified of Vegeta's upcoming visit that he was beginning to break down both emotionally and physically. Vegeta hadn't shown up once since his visit about four months ago, which was a pretty bad sign. Yamcha knew from experience that when Vegeta did decide to show up, he was in for the beating of his life. He dwelled on it and worried, making up several worst-case scenarios. But he would be willing to take anything Vegeta could throw at him. Anything would be better than being raped again. He had mass panic attacks and night terrors, waking up from horrible dreams in a cold sweat, after which he was not able to fall back asleep. Once or twice during the night he had to change the sheets on his bed; the nightmares were that bad. On top of that, he had come down with a nasty stomach bug about a month ago and it seemed to keep coming back; each time worse than before. He was spent. What he wouldn't give for even just one peaceful night's sleep.

He stumbled back into his bedroom and collapsed on the bed, his bloodshot eyes wide open. He wanted so badly to fall asleep; to just doze off, even if only for a moment. But he couldn't. The moment he even closed his eyes, he saw the nightmares; the horrible, horrible dreams. He shivered, his stomach growling. Of course it wants food; I just puked my guts out, he thought. But he didn't dare eat too much, lest he end up like he was just five minutes ago. But cooking and eating would keep him up, thus preventing sleep and keeping away the nightmares. He swung his legs around off the bed, standing up and stumbling off down the hall and across the living room. He went into the kitchen and rummaged around, pulling out a container of instant ramen. He popped it in the microwave and sat down at the table, fidgeting from side to side. He just felt so damn restless. He heaved a sigh and dropped down to the floor, propping his legs up on the chair with his knees bent. He kept his back flat against the floor and then slowly lifted up, bringing his chin up to his knees in a small sit up, although it was a bit challenging as he had developed a bit of a paunch. His utter lack of energy didn't help much either. But it seemed odd to him that no matter how little he ate and how many sit-ups he did, his belly continued to grow in size. Again, it might just be a product of his diet of cookie dough, pancake batter, ramen, and the occasional tub of ice cream but with all the running to the bathroom and such, it should at least be decreasing slightly...

He grunted, forcing another sit-up out of his tired body just as the microwave beeped to signal his ramen was done. He rolled backwards and sprung to his feet in an ukemi. It wasn't quite as graceful as he would have liked, though. He flipped up and stumbled back a few steps, flailing his arms to regain balance as he pushed his body forward rather ungainly, and finally over to the microwave. He opened up the microwave with a shaky hand and fished out his ramen. He dug out a fork from the drawer and broke into the container, chowing down on his noodles. He finished the small container of noodles in less than five minutes, regretting it the moment he was done. He suddenly felt very, very sick. It wasn't his fault his damn stomach chose to reject everything he gave it. He threw away the container and as he was bent over the trashcan, felt lunch, or dinner really, coming back up. He retched heavily, the ramen following its container. He dropped to his knees, wheezing. He took a shaky breath and stood up, removing the trash bag. He cursed to himself as he stumbled through the kitchen. What time was it? Night? Day? He pushed open the front door, his eyes greeted by the bleak darkness and crisp wind. Night.

He sighed, forcing himself forward once again, taking the bag out to the dumpster on the curb. He groaned, feeling a second wave of ramen coming up. He leaned his head over the dumpster and puked into it until all he had was the same stubborn dry heaves he had just about fifteen minutes ago. He slumped down, leaning his back against the dumpster. He just wanted to die. He was so sick, so paranoid, so scared. He was depressed too, he always had been. But now he was being crushed. Everything was just too overwhelming. He cried, openly sobbing to himself and whatever night creatures were about. He forced himself up, drying his tears with the back of his pajama sleeve. He was so lost, so depressed and so confused that he did the only thing he could do; he went inside, pulled a tub of chocolate-chip cookie dough out of the freezer and curled up on the couch, numbly watching TV. He knew he was going to regret forcing down the entire gallon of ice cream come tomorrow morning, but for now, it was worth it.

He woke up next morning feeling surprisingly fine. But the minute his feet connected with the ground, he felt the full effects of last night's snack. He took off running to the bathroom, his hand clamped over his mouth. He kicked open the bathroom door and kneeled down by the toilet, hurling forcefully into the bowl, getting a bit of back-spatter on his face. He shivered, flopping back against the cool linoleum floor. He stood up and ceremoniously washed off his face and while he was at it, got a long drink of water from the tap. He was snapped from his daze by the shrill ring of the phone. He tottered down the hall, picking up the phone in the living room by it's third ring.

"Hello?" he uttered, still feeling semi-sick and tired.

"Hey. I'm having a bit of a get-together. I want you here."

It could only be one person. Who had get-togethers every once and awhile? Who had such a controlling demeanor? Bulma. He sighed heavily into the receiver.

"Yeah, okay." he said.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, suddenly sounding concerned. "I won't force you to come."

"Nah, I'm okay, I guess. I've just had a nasty stomach bug. I feel loads better. You'll see." he said, sounding forcibly happy.

He more or less trying to convince himself he was fine, and that everything would be okay. Even if he knew that was just a lie.

"Okay...just hurry over." she said, sounding slightly unnerved.

"Okay. Be there in a few." he said weakly.

He hung up the phone shakily and slumped down on the couch. He took a deep breath and stood up again, heading off to his room. He pulled off his pajamas, which reeked of stale vomit. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a white undershirt, tugging at it as he tried to pull it down over his belly. Gotta lay off the ice cream and start working out more..., he thought to himself as he pulled on his slacks. He sucked in his gut as much as he could and buttoned it, pulling on a pair of socks next. He stalked down the hallway, taking long strides. He went into the kitchen taking his jacket off the back of a chair and pulling it on, grabbing his shoes and yanking them on right before he went out the door. He thought at first of taking his car, but then remembered his ever-growing gut and decided against it. He ran his fingers through his slightly messy hair and did a quick finger-comb. He broke into a jog, keeping his steady pace for the couple blocks he had to trek to get to Bulma's. He felt a little queasy when he stopped, but shook it off as he entered Capsule Corp. The bright lights and loud noises instantly gave him a headache, but like the nausea, he pushed it away. Everyone seemed to be at the party. Yamcha scuttled away from the crowds and his off in a corner so he wouldn't be bothered, but apparently, people just wanted nothing more than to harass him today. Tien walked over and leaned against the wall next to Yamcha. He gave him a light pat on the stomach.

"You're really letting yourself, go, huh?" he smirked.

Yamcha put on a fake grin and swiveled his head to face the triclops.

"Yeah, I know." he said weakly, still too tired and sick to make a proper smart-ass remark. He sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the swirling strobe lights and loud music. Tien put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked.

Yamcha opened his eyes and smiled weakly again.

"Uh-huh. I've just been sick for a while. I should be okay now that I have a goal to keep me motivated." he explained. Tien arched an eyebrow and Yamcha put a hand over his pudgy stomach. "I gotta work this off. Funny thing is that no matter how hard I try, it just gets bigger."

Tien shrugged. "A little exercise and it should go away. Work a little harder, slacker." he laughed, clapping Yamcha on the back before smirking and heading back into the throng of the party.

Yamcha laughed weakly as Tien walked off, waving his hand limply at his three-eyed friend. Kuririn was the next to approach him.

"Hey, you alright? You still look pretty terrible." he commented.

"Oh gee, thanks." Yamcha muttered.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you look better than you did last time I saw you." Kuririn hastily recovered.

"Yeah, well, I feel a lot better." he smiled weakly.

Kuririn nodded slightly and shuffled off, seeming contented. He was slightly better at taking hints about when people wanted to be left alone. Yamcha sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it shakily. He glanced around the dimly lit room and spotted Bulma. He suddenly felt a warm throbbing feeling and shifted slightly. He suddenly wanted her. And badly. She disappeared off into the kitchen and naturally, he followed. She was turned around, fixing something by the sink, seemingly absorbed in whatever she was doing. Yamcha went up to he and grabbed her ass. She went rigid and spun around, smacking across the face.

"Hentai!" she screeched.

Yamcha stumbled backwards a bit, and then began to smile. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her close to him, or at least as close as his gut would allow. He leaned in slowly, pressing his own lips to hers. She put her arms around him, not fighting the kiss. Until he used tongues. That was when she kicked him in the crotch. And none too gently. He pulled away, looking hurt.

"What the hell?" she screamed, smacking him again. Yamcha rubbed the side of his face and looked at Bulma pleadingly.

"Please...Bulma...don't do this to me. I don't just want you this time, I need you." he groaned, pressing up against her. "Oh, Kami, I need someone. Please...I am just so horny. C'mon...I even got a nice hard on for you." he whispered seductively. Bulma pushed him away.

"Oh, for crying out loud! You have a hand, you know."

"But...Bulma...this isn't like my normal cravings! It isn't just a petty want; it's an actual need! It can't be solved by simple masturbation, these feelings! Trust me, I've tried. I physically need you! Kami, kami, kami! I need you!" he said, pressing and rubbing his body against hers, running his fingers through her hair. "This isn't the first time this has happened. Please...just this once...ease my suffering. It'll help me get through." he pleaded, burying his face in her hair. Bulma pushed him away.

"Not a chance. Period. Never." she said firmly.

"But...It's only this once...please, baby..."

"No." she said. She said it in a cold voice, one that promised a horrible punishment if he dared to persist.

"Fine." he muttered, sulking away.

Now he was very horny, and needed something to satisfy him. He walked back out into the party, still considerably hard. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to calm down. He heaved a big sigh, hoping his rotund gut would draw attention away from his boner. He looked around the party for possible options. He smirked as he spied Chichi. He shrugged and was about to saunter over, but it was just then that Goku walked over to her and began talking. He was a generally gentle saiyajin, but Yamcha figured he should leave Chichi out of his lusting, lest Goku become a not-so-gentle saiyajin. He scuffed his toe into the ground and swiveled around, catching sight of Videl. He arched his eyebrows for a moment and then saw Gohan not to far, standing at the punch bowl. He was just a kid, but that 'kid' could kick Yamcha's sorry ass if he wanted to. However, not to far away was 18. Sexy? Check. Possible? If he worked hard enough. Non-imposing mate? Sorta. He figured he could take on Kuririn if he had to. He swaggered over to 18 and smiled at her, putting on a sexy air.

"Hey, how about you and me..." He winked. "...you know. Let's go have some fun." he finished.

She arched her eyebrow and snickered, nearly choking on her drink. She looked at him and then took on a solemn, air. "Oh kami, you were serious." she said. She was blank for a moment before breaking into hysterics, as she stumbled away, doubled over in silent laughter. Yamcha whimpered, chasing after her.

"Why not? It'll be great! I bet you ten to one it'll be the best you've ever had." he begged desperately, trying to keep his seductive lure. 18 just rolled her eyes and laughed quaintly, her back still turned.

"Oh, come on! Please. Kami, I am so horny right now! I'm only asking for an hour of your time... Not even that! I just--"

"Okay, it was cute the first time, and maybe I even got a laugh out of it the second time. But it isn't funny anymore; it's just annoying. Go away and don't bug me or you will live to regret it..." she growled, cutting him off.

Yamcha cast her a piteous glance and sighed heavily, sulking off. He let his mind wander as he stared down at the ground, his hands thrust in his pockets. Everyone was just so damn happy. They were all laughing, eating, talking and dancing. Not one of them was suffering like he was. He was dragged from his fantasy world when he crashed into a wall of some sorts and fell backwards, landing painfully on his tailbone.

"Watch where you're going, earth-scum." came a particularly harsh voice. Vegeta's voice. Yamcha looked up timidly, his eyes locking with the Saiyajin no Oji's. So it wasn't a wall… he thought, feeling as though hitting a wall would have been better. Vegeta extended his arm stiffly, and for a moment, Yamcha though Vegeta was going to smack him. Yamcha raised his arms up in front of his face, trembling slightly. Vegeta sighed disgustedly and rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing, baka?" he barked. "I'm trying to help you up, you ignorant earth-scum."

Yamcha looked at Vegeta shyly and took the saiyajin's hand. Vegeta yanked him up forcefully, letting go as soon as Yamcha was upwards far enough. Yamcha's momentum kept him going and he would have fallen flat on his face if Vegeta had not stuck out his arm and caught him by the shoulders, righting him. Yamcha looked up sheepishly at Vegeta, but was met with only the saiyajin no Oji's infamous 'what-is-wrong-with-you-you-sad-excuse-for-a-human-being-why-have-I-not-killed-you-yet?' glare.

Yamcha quailed as he stared at Vegeta, his body trembling slightly.

"What is wrong with you, you stupid human? Are your motor skills so poor that you cannot even managed to stand? Or is comprehending that too far out of your pitiful knowledge?" he sneered.

"I...I've just been...feeling...sick lately..." he stammered, trailing off.

He looked into Vegeta's eyes. Those eyes… they seemed so stormy, so deep, so lustrous. And he smelled nice too, sort of spicy and pungent with a slight tinge of cologne emanating from him. Yamcha didn't know what he was feeling right now, but he wasn't afraid or uneasy like usual. He felt suddenly relaxed, despite the fact that Vegeta's vice-like grip was quite nearly crushing his shoulder. He felt the warm throbbing pick up again, each pump of blood sending a new wave of this strange feeling crashing through his body. Vegeta eyed him warily, letting go of Yamcha's shoulders at once. Yamcha leaned into him, smiling lightly. Vegeta looked down at Yamcha oddly, his eye twitching slightly.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded.

Yamcha just looked up at Vegeta smittenly. He knew what this feeling was now; lust. He wanted sexual activity, and his body was desperate enough to crave Vegeta. inwardly, he was waving the red flags. He knew this was wrong, and truth be told, he was still afraid of Vegeta. But he needed release, and Vegeta would give it to him.

"Onegai..." he pleaded in a whisper, taking hold of Vegeta's shoulders.

"Nani?" Vegeta blinked. "Your scent...is different. You reek of pheromones..."

"Onegai..." Yamcha whimpered. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It was like he wasn't himself, but rather someone else forced to watch, but unable to interact.

"Your scent...not just the pheromones...but your hormonal scent is raging worse then a male child in puberty. But why on earth...?" he uttered, trying in vain to pry Yamcha off from him.

"Onegai...I need release..." he murmured as he buried his face in Vegeta's chest.

Vegeta snapped to reality and leapt away. Yamcha let go suddenly and fell to his knees on the floor. He looked up at Vegeta beseechingly, his lower lip stuck out in a pout as he gave Vegeta the puppy-dog eyes. Vegeta stared at him with disgust.

"What is wrong with you? I always knew you were a faggot, but..." he said, a slight undertone of a growl lurking in his rough voice. He spit at Yamcha in contempt. "You disgust me."

"You had no problem the first time!" Yamcha blurted.

"NANI?"

"Four months ago!" Yamcha yelled. "When you raped me because I stood up for myself!"

Vegeta looked at the group of people milling around at the party. Luckily, they were both so far from anyone, no on had taken notice. Vegeta snapped his head back to Yamcha and snarled.

"That had a purpose! What is this? Lust! Pure. Human. Lust. I will never sink so low as to whore myself off to everything with a vagina and then some. I don't sink that low. Unlike you wretched humans, saiyajins have pride! We have one mate, and if that mate dies, we find a new one. But never, ever, ever, are our mates of the same gender! You humans might sink that low, but we saiyajins..."

"Have pride." Yamcha finished. "I know but...I have nowhere else to go. And… and your scent is different too! Mating season, right?"

"Shut up! You know nothing of us." he said, crossing his arms. "And how would you know about our mating season?"

"It's not just the way you smell. It's the way you act and hold your body. You're feeling enamored too. We can help each other, since you probably won't be getting any from Bulma anyways, what with her feeling all harassed-like."

"Nani? Why?"

"Trust me. I know when you won't be getting any, and you won't be getting any."

Vegeta stomped his foot against the floor so hard it cracked the tiling. "Even so, I would never sink as low as to cohabit with you, of all people." he growled. "Why on Vegeta..." he started, launching into a lecture about his home planet.

"Yes, on you!" Yamcha blurted, cutting off Vegeta as he played with the Saiyajin no Oji's words.

"Nani?" he yelped. He relaxed and sighed heavily. "Kami-sama you're persistent." He threw a quick glance to the partygoers and then looked back to Yamcha. "Fine. But let's get this over with quickly."

Yamcha looked up. "You...you mean it?"

Vegeta said nothing but spun around and started to the stairs. Yamcha pushed himself up and looked back to see if anyone was watching. Like usual, everyone was too busy to care, so Yamcha took his cue and ran after Vegeta. The saiyajin was standing outside of a small guest room, his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up at Yamcha and entered the room.

Yamcha's stomach lurched, as he began to have second thoughts. But the throbbing reminded him that he needed this. He shut the door behind him and shyly stepped closer to Vegeta. He shuffled over to the bed and laid down on his back, looking apprehensively at Vegeta.

"Well?" Vegeta said, somewhat annoyed. Yamcha blinked and was a bit puzzled until he realized Vegeta was talking about his pants. They needed to come off. He sighed and unbuttoned his pants, shakily taking the waistband into his hands as he eased them down. "Oh, for the love of..." Vegeta muttered, rolling his eyes.

He grabbed Yamcha's pants and yanked them off, along with his shoes, socks and shorts. Yamcha winced at the sudden cold of the surrounding air. Vegeta seemed to have a sort of talent with stripping people down for sex. Maybe it was a saiyajin thing. Vegeta grabbed Yamcha and flipped him over onto his back, pushing his face into the pillow. He sat back, unbuttoning his own pants and slid them down to his knees. Vegeta sighed and shook his head in astonishment at what he was going to do.

Yamcha whimpered, fear crashing against the inside of his mind. His stomach did flip-flops; if he had anything left in his stomach, if he had eaten anything at the party, rest assured that it would have come up with a vengeance. But luckily his stomach was empty, but that didn't stop the dry heaves and nausea that swept over his system. He gripped at the sheet and began to cry softly, his body quivering something awful. Vegeta began to push into him and Yamcha screamed out of instinct. Vegeta abruptly stopped and let out a disgusted sigh.

"What now? I haven't even done anything." he sighed.

Yamcha bit his lip. "Um...do you think...we might be able to use a little...lubrication, maybe?" he asked miserably.

Vegeta sighed again and leaned over to the side table and grabbed a tin of Vaseline off the top. He rubbed it over his erect member and then threw it over his shoulder.

"There. Are you happy now?" he asked, his voice thick with irritation. Yamcha couldn't manage any words, but rather let out a small squeak and slowly nodded his head. "Good." Vegeta said sharply.

Yamcha had a feeling that even if he had said no, Vegeta wouldn't have cared. He bit his lip so hard that a small trickle of blood began to roll down his lip. And Vegeta hadn't even started. Vegeta lifted up and then slammed down, pushing into Yamcha rather abruptly. The human screamed out loud, but was roughly cut off as Vegeta shoved him into the pillow.

"You stupid human! Do you want them to hear us?" he hissed. Yamcha uttered a small wheeze and frantically shook his head from side to side.

Vegeta let go and pulled out to the tip, and then forced his way back in. Yamcha let out a muffled cry, tearing a good-sized chunk out of the sheet. Despite all the lubrication, it still scraped and tore at his insides. He squeaked, wincing at the pain. But this was what he wanted; this is what he persisted and begged for. But now...the fear of Vegeta...the horror of what he did in the beginning; it all came roaring back. It was hard to try and feel pleasure when he was so scared. But Yamcha shoved his fear to the back of his mind and forced the pleasure. He needed it. His body craved release. And unless he started to feel the pleasure, he would be miserable all day. He began to thrust his hips upwards to meet Vegeta's pumps. Through pain comes pleasure...through pain comes pleasure...through pain COMES PLEASURE! I Need PLEASURE, his mind screamed. He bit down on his lip, trying hard to ignore the ache. This was starting to feel strangely good...Yamcha hoped this wasn't turning out to be gay or bi. That was his nightmare come true. He shook his head and pushed harder up, grinding against Vegeta.

"I need release!" he yelled. "ONEGAI!"

Suddenly, the pain was no object. He was beyond caring now. He needed release, and Vegeta was going to give it to him. He panted, his pupils shrinking. He could feel warm trickles of blood rolling down over his buttocks, trailing down the underside of his thighs. He felt the fiery pain roar through his system as reality began to fade in. This hurt like a son of a bitch... Yamcha felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks; tears of pain. What was he doing? Why had he turned to Vegeta? Kami, he wished he had never suggested this...but he needed release, or he would suffer an incomprehensible purgatory. He had already been sick for last months, and now he was feeling more horny than normal. His life sucked. He bucked his hips up again; wincing at the pain he could now feel in full. He felt pressure building up in his lower half; pressure that made his cramped, stiff member ache for the sweet release. He gripped the sheets tightly and after another thrust from the powerful Oji, screamed loudly as he came. He flopped down tiredly, yawning as he rested his face on the pillow. But something was wrong...Vegeta wasn't stopping. His thrusts were becoming erratic as he gripped at Yamcha's shoulders and pulling him back up, leaving deep crescent-shaped impressions where his nails dug in. Yamcha thrashed beneath the Oji's sweat-slicked body, almost throwing him off. But Vegeta reared up and kneed him in the back, lifting Yamcha up by the hair.

"What's wrong? Don't you want anything anymore? You started this, you begged for this, so take this like a man." he hissed. "This is a partnered deal, you get yours and I get mine, remember?"

Yamcha let a sob escape his lips. "But… but it hurts!" he cried.

"Well then, you should have thought of that before hand, eh, earth-scum?" he snapped.

Yamcha winced. Maybe he should have thought this through better. But there was no going back. He just closed his eyes and waited till it ended. He didn't know how long he could hang in. But for some reason, even though the soft tissue in his rear was probably torn to shreds, he was still getting small tinges of pleasure. He buried his face deep into the pillow, moaning out of pain and out of bliss. He was so tired…he wanted to sleep. But he wanted more of this pleasure, even though he had already climaxed. Was that so wrong. Yes. Very much so. But he didn't care. Suddenly, wet warmth drenched his insides, white sticky fluid dribbling down his legs and to the bedspread. Vegeta was done. He let every muscle relax as he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep. But Vegeta hauled him roughly up, throwing him to his knees on the floor.

"Get dressed, baka. You can't sleep now. Don't you think that they would think it was weird if you didn't show back up at the party? Of course they would. Use what precious few brain cells you have!" he explained roughly as he pulled his own pants back up.

Yamcha pulled on his shorts and pants, looking timidly at Vegeta. The Oji was a scary man when he got angry. And making him angry was the last thing on his mind. He stood up shakily, the familiar ache once again searing his rear. He was in pain, but the horny urge had gone away. For now. He filed this in the back of his mind as the stupidest thing he had ever done. He would never, ever, ever do this again; no matter how horny he ever got. But why did he do this in the first place? Did it exceed need for release? Was he actually having feelings for Vegeta? He hoped not. Bad enough he was ass-raped by the saiyajin, he didn't need to that to turn into a 'first time' between a couple. He righted his clothes, preparing himself for return to the party. He pulled on his socks and slipped on his shoes, standing up slowly, trying to ignore the sharp pains that agonized his rump. He sorely limped downstairs, the Oji following silently behind him. He had to admit, it was sort of unsettling to have Vegeta walking behind him. He crept down the stairs and entered the party atmosphere unnoticed. Vegeta grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back.

"Now, you say nothing of what happened today or 'that night,' do you understand me, human?" he whispered, his hot breath tickling Yamcha's ear.

"H-hai." Yamcha choked.

"Good." Vegeta said. "Now get out of my sight."

Yamcha took haste, limping away.