Krillin / Eighteen Flash Fiction

“What did you mean? Hell, Krillin, we haven’t even kissed yet.”

“I meant—did you say yet?”

“D-don’t get sidetracked.”

“Sorry. I meant…well, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing than what I thought you meant?”

“Good point.” To avoid losing his nerve, he averted his gaze. “Iwannatouchyournose.”

“Did you say my nose?”

He nodded, blushing furiously.

“Why? It’s just a—oh.”

“You don’t have to let me. It’s just I’ve never touched one, and it’s my birthday, and you did ask, and—“

Eighteen pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.” She scooted closer to him and leaned in.

“Could you close your eyes?”

“Why? So you can try some funny stuff?”

“Of course not. It’s weird with you looking at me.”

She huffed but complied. Teasing Krillin could be such fun. The first sensation made her gasp. His hand jerked away, and he apologized.

“It’s fine,” she said. “You startled me. Go on. Just tell me when you’re about to touch.”

“Now,” he whispered, and his forefinger traced the line of her nose from bridge to tip. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she couldn’t have opened them if she wanted to. Then two fingers caressed the side, grazing the delicate flesh beneath her left eye. She shuddered as his finger moved to where her nose met her upper lip. Keep going, she silently urged, imagining that finger teasing her bottom lip.

But he stopped, his hand returning to her nostrils, squeezing gently and almost making her sneeze. She pulled away and opened her eyes.

“Sorry, did I—?”

Her smile stopped him. “Do you want to kiss it?” She almost expected him to ask, Kiss what? But he merely nodded and leaned forward to place a delicate kiss on the tip of her nose.

They both grinned. “This is getting weird, isn’t it?” Krillin asked.

“Little bit. One more kiss?”

“All right.”

When he leaned in, she raised her head slightly so that his lips missed their intended target and found a better one.

“Happy Birthday, Krillin.”

Word Count: 420

The End.

Bulma cracked her knuckles. Time to give this girl an education. In vague terms—so as not to shock the poor dear—she described a couple of acts that Vegeta found highly pleasurable but that Krillin would be too embarrassed to ask for.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Hmm. “There’s nothing wrong with it per se—if you’re into that sort of thing—but you’ve got to hold something back.”

“Why?”

“To reward him.” Bulma leaned forward conspiratorially. “Or to get something you want.”

Eighteen shook her head. “But what I want is that stuff.”

“Well, okay, that stuff, but do you…?”

“Yes.”

“And does he…?”

“Of course.”

“And how about…?

Eighteen grinned. “That’s the best part.”

“And…?”

“We have to stretch first, but sure.”

For several moments, Bulma said nothing. Then she triggered a capsule, releasing a notebook and pen. “Go on.”

Twenty minutes later, she had filled several pages and would have continued taking notes had Eighteen’s phone not chirped. The cyborg’s eyes lit up, and she answered.

“Hey, honey…No, we’re chatting…Girl talk…Sure, come on over…See you soon.” Hanging up, she turned back to Bulma. “Krillin’s shift just ended. He’s picking me up for an early dinner before we get Marron from the babysitter.”

When Bulma spotted Krillin flying in, she slammed the notebook shut and fumbled for its capsule. She could feel his curious gaze upon her as he landed, which only deepened the blush staining her cheeks. The couple embraced in a way that seemed more sensual than the typical reserved kisses they shared in front of friends. Then again, perhaps Bulma’s perception had changed. Either way, she excused herself and hurried inside for a cool drink. Or better yet, a hot husband who might be interested in practicing some new...techniques.

Krillin and Eighteen strolled hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. The restaurant was a block away, and they had time before the dinner rush.

“So, Bulma seemed pretty red-faced,” Krillin said. “What did you two talk about?”

“Sex.”

“Oh?” Time was, he would have blushed at the topic.

“Yeah, but I only told her about the tame stuff. I don’t want to embarrass the poor woman.”

Krillin nodded soberly. “You’re a good friend.”

“I know, right?”

Hand-holding transitioned to arms around waist and shoulders, and since the streets were clear, they engaged in a few stolen kisses that were anything but tame.

Discovering his sex appeal took some time…two seconds to be precise. The first time he tore off his shirt to go for a swim, Eighteen stood goggle-eyed, mouth agape. The muscles in Krillin’s back rippled as he jogged to the ocean, and when he turned to call to her, the definition of his pecs and abs had her swallowing hard. Eighteen’s reputation for silence served her well that day. Had she been forced to speak, the only sounds she could have uttered would have been incoherent.

Eighteen had no illusions about herself either. Her attitude, she knew, left much to be desired. She was pushy, belligerent, a constant source of criticism to her so-called friends, and likely to ignore them or walk away if their topic of conversation bored her. Yet, Krillin insisted on bringing her along to every Capsule Corp function or dinner at the Sons—not to show her off but to include her in his life.

Was Eighteen a good person for giving Krillin a chance? No, she was terribly selfish.

Krillin deserved someone as kind as he, who instinctively recognized his needs and considered them ahead of his own, who didn’t snap at him over the most insignificant things, whose cheeks didn’t burn with embarrassment and who didn’t lose her voice whenever the mood became romantic.

He deserved a woman whose I-love-you’s were shouted as often as they were whispered and who was comfortable holding hands and kissing in public.

But to hell with what he deserved. Eighteen wanted him, so she claimed him. And she would defend her claim against any and all challengers.

As they lay on the couch, face to face, holding one another in a loose embrace, she caught his eye and grinned mischievously.

He returned her smile and gave her a look that said, What are you up to?

“Krillin…” She wanted to tell him what she was thinking, but the myriad thoughts and emotions swirling through her mind were too complex to put into words. Instead, she kissed him. It was a leisurely kiss, meant to convey love and comfort, a desire to spend every night in his arms, and more than a little possessiveness. There were no excited hands fumbling with buttons and belt buckles, no feet tripping over one another in a mad dash to the bedroom. This kiss was a promise, a statement of intent: You’re mine, little man. Don’t even think of running away.

His dark eyes sparkled as she drew back, and he gazed at her with wonder and adoration. So much needed to be said, but she was still learning to be the person he inspired her to be. So for now, she settled on, “Thanks for giving us a chance.”

She cut her eyes at the voice’s owner, her glare momentarily freezing him in place.

Her brother swallowed hard and mouthed a sorry. “Do I get to see the baby now?” He carried an open beer, and she gazed longingly at it. No alcohol when you’re pregnant or breastfeeding, the doctor said, and she wanted to throttle him.

She nodded at Seventeen but held a finger over her lips in a signal to keep quiet.

He grinned, but as soon as he saw Marron for the first time, an uneasy look passed over his face. But Eighteen was ignoring him, both hands on the railing of the crib as she fought the urge to lift the little girl into her arms and cuddle her. She’d sneaked away to do just that several times during dinner, leaving Seventeen and Krillin to listen in on her cooing sounds over the baby monitor. As for her assurances and promises that Mama loves you so much and You’re so beautiful, Marron—Seventeen could hardly believe those words came from his sister. Krillin, meanwhile, couldn’t keep the silly smile off his face. When Eighteen disappeared the last time and didn’t come back for a full ten minutes, Krillin encouraged her brother to join her while he cleared the table and started on the dishes. 

Watching the girl sleep, Seventeen placed a hand on Eighteen’s shoulder. He imagined the years of torment ahead for Marron as people reacted to her deformity. He didn’t envy his sister for the challenges she would have to guide her daughter through.

He tried to keep his voice level as he whispered, “She doesn’t have a nose.”

“I know.” Unable to hold back any longer, Eighteen caressed the empty area above the girl’s mouth, causing her to gurgle in her sleep. “Isn’t she perfect?” His sister’s tone held no irony, no attempts to reassure herself or deny an uncomfortable truth, only the purity of a mother’s love.

He reached into the crib and, at Eighteen’s nod of approval, stroked Marron’s cheek. The girl stirred and grasped his finger. And in that moment, Seventeen fell in love. “Yeah, she’s perfect.”

Eighteen squeezed his arm. “Come on, Uncle. Let’s let the little firefly sleep.”

He raised a brow at the unusual nickname.

“Krillin’s idea,” she explained as they strolled down the hall. “I think it fits.”

“Because she lights up your lives?” he teased.

Eighteen nodded, completely serious.

“You know you’re turning into the type of person we would’ve made fun of before?”

She merely shrugged.

Pausing, he glanced back at Marron’s room. “Do you mind if I visit more often?”

“Do I mind if you do the thing I’ve been after you to do for years? Yeah, it’ll be fine.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Besides, spending time with Marron will be good practice for when you finally give me a niece or nephew.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He gestured at her with his beer can. “And you’d better not try to play matchmaker with me.”

“Relax, Seventeen. The only women I know well are Vegeta’s wife and Goku’s widow.” Eighteen stroked her chin. “Hmm.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Yeah, somehow I don’t picture you raising two kids right away. Start with one.” “I’ll stick with being the fun uncle for a while, thanks.”

Eighteen smiled. “My daughter couldn’t have a better one.”

As they stared at one another, uncertain how to proceed, a second thought joined the first: Was she any good? Krillin hadn’t said anything. But what was he supposed to do—compliment her technique? Give her a rating?

Maybe she did something wrong. But how do you kiss wrong? It's just pressing your mouths together, moving your lips, and your tongue.

Her blush returned.

“How was it?” she blurted.

“The kiss?”

She crossed her arms. “Of course, the kiss. What else would I mean?”

"Oh. Wonderful." He rubbed the back of his head, his hand making a scratching sound as it brushed against a week's worth of hair growth. "I sure wasn't expecting it."

"How...how did it"—she grew very quiet—"compare?"

He leaned in, close enough to fan her desire to continue where they left off. "Did you say, compare?"

"Yeah, you know, to others you've...kissed. There have been others, right?" She held her breath.

"Some." He looked uncomfortable. "Have you kissed other guys?"

“Of course!" she answered too quickly. "Tons of 'em. I…just can’t remember.”

He raised a brow, a smile teasing his lips. "Tons?"

She turned away. "I can't help it if I lost my memory. I didn't ask to be experimented on, you know."

"I know."

“And would it be a crime if I hadn’t been kissed before? We can’t all be kissing masters like the great Krillin. I wasn’t a student of the perverted Turtle Hermit. I'm sure he gave you plenty of tips.”

Her words lost steam as Krillin ran his fingers across the back of her hand and up her arm. Facing him, she swallowed hard at his intense gaze.

“So, you're out of practice,” he whispered, his breath tickling her cheek. “We can remedy that.”

“And how do you suggest we do that? Oh.”

Krillin smiled, and it was a good thing Eighteen was seated, because she suddenly felt weak in the knees.

Minutes later, he blew gently on her swollen lips, causing her to shiver. At least now she had her answer—he really was that good.

“There were only two others,” Krillin offered.

Eighteen blinked in confusion, having forgotten most of their conversation. "Hmm?"

“The girls I kissed. There were two of them, and neither compared to this, to you.”

Pleased, she toyed with the collar of his shirt. “I’m the best, huh?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Good.” Still, “Who were they?”

“Eighteen, I’m not going to answer that.”

“Why, do I know either of them?”

He squirmed, and she tightened her hold on his shirt.

"Krillin?"

"Um..." His eyes widened as he thought of something. "I could tell you, or"—he smiled slyly—"we could make out some more."

Letting out a sigh, she pulled on his shirt until their lips met and wiped the smirk from his face.

Word Count: 657

The fringes alone violated several laws of good taste. She was hardly a trendsetter these days, having exchanged high fashion for high chairs when their little chestnut came along, but if she stepped out of the house like this, her nosy neighbors would never let her hear the end of it. The boots were nice, though. She would have to work them into her regular rotation.

Eighteen didn’t know why she even kept the outfit after Chi-Chi returned it. Leaving it in a heap on the Sons’ bedroom floor when she trashed the place had been her way of tossing it out. But she accepted it with good grace and promptly shoved it into the back of her closet as soon as she arrived home. She meant to throw it out once again before the move from Kame House to Satan City, but Krillin must have packed it in one of the capsules. Technically, that made her fashion faux pas his fault. Hmm.

Emptying the contents of the bedroom hamper into a laundry basket, she crept into her daughter’s room to gather her dirty clothes. Eighteen’s heart melted as it ever did when she spied her little bundle of energy at rest, and she resisted the impulse to nuzzle her cheek. No need to disturb the little one’s slumber. She’d be chasing her around the house soon enough.

She was surprised to find Marron was the only one sleeping in the house. Krillin’s shift ended two hours ago, and she expected to find him sacked out on the couch, not sitting idly watching the morning news with a cup of coffee in front of him.

Eighteen missed his presence in their bed, but he insisted on sleeping downstairs while on night shift. Don’t want to wake my ladies, he said. She thought the sentiment silly until the night he bumped into their bedside table, and Marron screamed her head off in the next room, thinking there was an intruder. Turns out daddy’s little firefly was more disturbed by his recent absences than she let on.

Standing on the stairs, Eighteen balanced the basket against her hip. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He looked at her and started to respond, only to pause. She had almost forgotten what she was wearing until she saw his mischievous smirk. Uh-oh.

“Howdy, buckaroo.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I hate you right now.”

“That’s no way for a cowpoke to talk.”

“Your accent is terrible.” She descended the stairs and went about tidying up the living room, intent on ignoring him. If only it were that easy.

“Aw, little lady, you’re hurting my feelings.”

She bit back a retort about which one of them should be called little. “Do you want to sleep downstairs tonight?”

“In the corral with them other varmints? Surely not, missy.”

“Krillin! I am warning you.” That warning was silenced by two arms encircling her waist and pulling her against a strong chest.

“I’d much rather sleep in the bunkhouse with you,” he murmured.

She swallowed hard, inexplicably fighting the blush creeping into her cheeks. “You—you keep this up, and I’ll have to…to brand you.”

“Already been branded.” He rubbed his forehead into her back.

“This’ll be a place only I can see.”

“Tell me more.”

No sooner had he released her than she dropped her laundry basket and whipped around, sending her garment’s fringe flying. She was on him, and they tumbled to the floor, all frantic hands and eager kisses. Apparently she’d been missing him in her bed even more than she realized.

Catching his breath, he nodded toward the stairs that led to their bedroom. “Bunkhouse?”

She grinned. “I’ll bring the lariat.”