Kiss Lessons

BY : Grezi
Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 2175
Disclaimer: I do not own rights to the Dragon Ball franchise or to the characters portrayed in this fan fiction. This work of fiction has been written entirely for non-commercial purposes.

Bulma sighed deeply. Vegeta knew that sigh. It meant two things – she was unhappy, and she was about to tell him why. He watched her as she sat up on the edge of the bed, throwing the covers aside, and reached for her robe that was spread out on the back of an armchair. This was unlike her – usually she either cuddled up to him or fell right asleep. Sure, it was only a half past ten o’clock, but still, this was not her habit. She pulled on her robe and sighed again.

“What?” asked Vegeta, rather not postponing the inevitable lecture.

“Since when have you become so boring?” she asked, in her typical merciless honesty.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s lousy”, she said, turning to look at him. “You know, sex. Now don’t get me wrong, the sex itself is still pretty great. But it doesn’t quite have the same magic when it’s the exact same kind of great every single time.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Vegeta asked, folding his arms behind his head.

“More like what are you going to do about it”, she answered, tying the sash of her robe. “You’re the one who wants to take initiative, so setting the scene is kind of your responsibility, right? And let me be honest, mister, you could really step up your game a bit when it comes to foreplay. And kissing. And fondling. And, well, pretty much everything that happens besides the actual bam-bam in the ham.”

“Hmph. What’s wrong with what I do?” Vegeta grumbled, frowning.

“Well, for starters, you’re pretty rough”, Bulma said as she stood up and started combing her hair. “When you kiss me, it’s like being at the dentist. A bunch of poking and grinding.”

“You said you like it intense.”

“I do! But I’d still rather feel like I’m being made love to and not getting a root canal”, she snorted. “You are so unromantic… The whole process is always the same with you. Grab that, squeeze there, roll over, dispatch. Couldn’t you try and be a little more creative?”

“If you don’t like it, why don’t you just tell me what you want me to do?” murmured Vegeta, pouting in annoyance.

“I shouldn’t need to”, said Bulma as she dropped into the armchair. “If you were interested in making me feel good and not just getting your own end, you’d find different ways to go about it.”

She put her chin in her palm, leaning her elbow on the armrest of the chair.

“Yamcha was always fantastic in bed”, she sighed, staring wistfully out the window. “So considerate, so committed. Always striving to make me feel special. Ten years together and no two nights were the same. His kissing alone was enough to make you come. Gentle yet passionate. Getting kissed by you is like having my face sucked with a toilet plunger. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

“If he was so wonderful, why’d you leave him?” Vegeta growled.

“We didn’t have the chemistry”, Bulma said nonchalantly. “Sadly, great sex alone doesn’t make a relationship work. But it helps, you know.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and said nothing. In a contest of scoff, there was no defeating Bulma.

“He really was great though”, she said after the silence had lasted for a moment. She smiled to herself, engulfed in good memories. Then she stood up and started for the bathroom, stretching her arms as she walked. “If you can’t be bothered to use your imagination, go watch an instructional video or something. There are video tutorials for everything these days. I’m sure there’s someone out there teaching people how to kiss.”

She stepped into the bathroom, and soon the sound of running water could be heard echoing from the tiles.

Vegeta snorted. She really knew where to strike. Her bringing up her old lover really irritated him, not to mention comparing the human with him. She never did that, compare the two. Vegeta had always figured it was out of kindness towards Yamcha, for what did he have that could possibly be placed on level with the prince of Saiyans? Vegeta had never even considered it might be because there was something he wasn’t on par at with the human. While he didn’t really have a reason to outright dislike Yamcha, he’d never found him the least bit interesting or worthy of his attention.

Or at least, he hadn’t until now. What could be so special about Yamcha’s love-making that would make Bulma speak so highly of him? She was habitually brutally honest, and though she could slip into exaggerating, she wouldn’t do it if she wasn’t truly impressed. And she was not easy to impress.

Whatever the case, Vegeta hated being told he wasn’t good enough, let alone worse than someone else in vicinity, in any aspect of life. He would show Bulma just how committed he could be. If it was elaborate osculation she wanted, that’s what she would get.

And she had suggested he take a lesson from the master, hadn’t she?


Next night, at approximately quarter to nine, Vegeta stopped at the door of Yamcha’s apartment. He remembered being told that the human spent about half of his time living in the city and the other half roaming the wilderness with the flying cat, who resided permanently in the desert. Despite his apparent success in sports, the human seemed to live rather modestly, on the highest floor of a six-story building. Vegeta had never visited Yamcha before, so it had taken a moment to pinpoint his ki among the rows of apartment buildings. Naturally, there was no way he could ask Bulma for the exact address. He could tell he had the right door, though. He could sense the familiar aura from inside.

Vegeta rang the doorbell. His ears could pick up the soft noises coming from inside as the resident of the apartment moved towards the door. When the footsteps stopped, he could guess he was being watched from the door viewer, so he watched back. After a moment there was a click from the lock and the door opened ajar.

“What do you want?” said Yamcha as he peeked from the narrow opening into the corridor. Neither his expression or his tone of voice did nothing to hide his suspicion at finding Vegeta at his door.

“There’s something I need from you”, said Vegeta, staring piercingly at the human. “Let me in.”

“What could you possibly need from me?” Yamcha asked, now confused rather than suspicious.

“Knowledge”, Vegeta replied. “It concerns Bulma.”

“What, is she okay?” asked Yamcha, as Vegeta had guessed he would, word for word. He resisted the temptation to comment on the human’s predictability.

“She’s fine”, he said. “Let me in so we can talk.”

After a few seconds’ hesitation, Yamcha opened the door and stepped aside. Vegeta entered, removed his shoes and without speaking walked further into the apartment. He turned left from the short hallway, arriving in the living room. The large space was divided by a sofa, with a sizeable television set on the left side and a trophy cabinet on the right side of the room. Next to the cabinet, there was an entrance into the bedroom, and on the other wall, into the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t showy or big – figures, for one person – but the scarce furniture had been picked in good taste. Vegeta crossed the thick rug on the floor of the left side of the living room and sat himself down on the dark wine-red sofa.

Yamcha followed Vegeta into the room and leaned against the wall next to the hallway entrance. Vegeta looked at him. He was growing out his hair again, which was currently at shoulder blade length. Long hair suited Yamcha, Vegeta thought. It made him look young.

“So, what do you need?” the human asked.

“Bulma says I don’t know how to kiss”, said Vegeta, his eyes unwavering and still fixed on Yamcha. “I need you to teach me.”

Yamcha stared at Vegeta, and Vegeta stared back. After a lengthy silence, a small nervous laugh escaped Yamcha’s lips, but as Vegeta’s face still didn’t change, the human cleared his throat and said, dryly:


“According to her, you’re the best”, said Vegeta, formal and stern as ever. “And to me, only the best will suffice. So you’re going to teach me.”

“To… kiss?”


Yamcha looked around, dumbfounded, as if the explanation to this baffling situation lay hidden somewhere in the living room.

“You’re joking”, he said after his mouth had hung open, unable to form words, for some ten seconds.

“No”, replied Vegeta. He remained sitting on the couch, looking at Yamcha, whose face was a generous display or shock and disbelief. Finally, the human’s mouth tightened into a straight line as his astonishment was replaced with anger. He straightened himself and said, his voice low:

“Get out.”

Vegeta frowned but remained unmoving on the sofa.

“Didn’t you hear me?” hissed Yamcha from between his teeth, his fists clenching tightly. “Get out.”

“No”, Vegeta said. “Not before I get what I came for.”

“Does your arrogance know no bounds?” the human snapped. “Get the hell out!”

Yamcha was taken aback when Vegeta suddenly stood up, seemingly obeying. It was only when he was a mere step away that Yamcha realized the Saiyan wasn’t headed for the hallway entrance, but for him. Before he could move, Vegeta slammed his hands against the wall, trapping Yamcha between them, pushing his face near the human’s.

“Perhaps you misunderstood something here”, growled Vegeta. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m telling you to do it. And you will do as I say. You will teach me.”

“Y-you’re being ridiculous”, Yamcha said nervously. “You can’t force me to do something like that.”

“Can’t I?” asked Vegeta. Yamcha looked at his face, a couple of inches below his, and it was painfully clear that the Saiyan was completely serious. Despite his anger at being ridiculed and the utter absurdity of the situation, Yamcha was genuinely intimidated – though he couldn’t begin to imagine what methods Vegeta would use to realize his threat, Yamcha didn’t doubt he absolutely would. The human lowered his eyes and swallowed audibly, forcing the bitter taste of humility down his throat.

“Fine”, he said quietly. “Fine. I’ll teach you. Could you step back?”

Vegeta did, releasing Yamcha from the imprisonment of his presence. As if nothing special had occurred, the prince returned to sit on the sofa, leaving room to his right. Yamcha was struggling to stomach the cocktail of mortification, laughability and ominousness of the position he found himself in. He wiped cold sweat off his forehead as he forced himself to sit down on the sofa, a good arm’s length from Vegeta.

“So, what do you want to know?” he asked, unable to look at the man.

“Teach me to kiss the way she likes”, said Vegeta.

“Oh God”, Yamcha puffed, running his hand through his hair. “What does that even mean? What’s wrong with the way you kiss?”

“According to her, I’m dull and rough”, Vegeta answered.

“Like, how?” asked Yamcha, wincing as despair was taking over. “Do you bite her or something? Because if you do, just… don’t.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and snorted:

“I’ll show you.”

To Yamcha’s horror, the Saiyan grabbed him by the shoulders and began to pull him towards himself. Instinctively, the human raised his hands in front of his face in protest.

“No, don’t!” he yelped, turning his face away. “No need, I – I’ll think of something –”

Vegeta let go. Yamcha tried to stand up to gain distance, but the Saiyan grabbed his shoulder again, forcing him to remain sitting. Yamcha’s heart was racing, and his hands were practically soaked with sweat. This is sexual harassment, he thought to himself. If he didn’t want it to escalate into anything worse, he’d better give Vegeta some satisfactory advice and end this horrifying encounter as soon as possible. He took a deep breath, counted silently to ten and turned to Vegeta, as calm as he could.

“Bulma likes… being courted”, he began, fixing his eyes on Vegeta’s chin, as he couldn’t bear looking him in the eyes. “She likes being coaxed and allured. If – if you go for a kiss straight away like – like you did just now – she’ll probably find it… boring.”

Yamcha saw Vegeta’s chin nod.

“I guess I don’t really know what you guys do – before, you know, so… I-I’ll just start at the very beginning”, he continued, stuttering in embarrassment and awkwardness. “You could begin by t… touching her here and there suggestively. Like her shoulders, or her… waist… or her hair – like, if you stroke her hair behind her ear – she likes that. Then, you could s- uh… softly k-kiss her, not on the lips, but on the cheeks or – or the side of her neck and her shoulders, and her… hands.”

Vegeta still said nothing, and his silence was making Yamcha even more uneasy. He was convinced the Saiyan was internally laughing at him, at his words and his miserable appearance.

“How does that… sound to you so far?” he asked carefully.

“Unnecessarily complicated”, replied Vegeta. “Why would she need to be coaxed if she already wants it?”

“To set the atmosphere”, Yamcha answered, looking to the side – to him it was obvious. “To build up expectations, to make her… excited. Besides, she enjoys the attention. She likes to know you’re willing to spend the effort to make her feel special.”

For a moment Yamcha was caught up in his memories of his and Bulma’s relationship. She hadn’t exactly had a problem voicing what she liked, and he had wanted to comply – he had wanted to make her feel special. He hadn’t minded going the extra mile. Why he had to sit there and reveal the most intimate aspects of that relationship to someone who couldn’t bother with basic gestures of affection was beyond him.

“And then?” Vegeta’s voice woke Yamcha from his reminiscing. “When I can actually kiss her, how should I do it?”

“That, uh…” Yamcha began again. “Since she feels that you’re too rough, you should probably… start softer and gradually become more… intense. She likes intense, though, so – so not too soft. I mean, uh, maybe make it… p-passionate but – gentle?”

Yamcha buried his head into his hands. It wasn’t easy recalling what it was like to kiss Bulma, let alone find words to describe it in detail, when he could feel Vegeta’s unforgiving gaze drill a hole into the side of his face.

“Man, it’s hard to explain”, he sighed.

“Do it to me then”, said Vegeta.

“No!” said Yamcha immediately, turning to look at Vegeta. Up until now, the prince’s face had remained expressionless – that is, if you were willing to not count the subtle frown of contempt as an expression – but as soon as Yamcha uttered his rejection, he saw Vegeta’s brows come closer together and his eyes narrow, and he knew there was no other way to please the prince than doing as he told. Besides, unpleasant as it was, showing him what he meant in practice was probably the fastest and most efficient way to get Vegeta to leave.

“I mean, wait”, he hurried to say, looking down at his lap, and the tightly intertwined fingers of his hands. “I just… I need…”

“Everything you just explained, do it to me”, Vegeta commanded, straightening from his laid-back position on the sofa, moving to sit on the edge of the seat. “Now.”

Yamcha felt Vegeta’s weight shift next to him. Why had he opened the door? He cleared his throat, inhaled deeply and turned to Vegeta.

“All right”, he said, leering at the prince from under his brows. “I’ll do it, but once that’s done, you leave. Okay?”

“Fine”, said Vegeta. “If I find your demonstration satisfactory, that is.”

Yamcha closed his eyes and wished he could close his ears as easily. Keeping his head down, he tried to moisten his dry-as-chalk lips with his equally dry tongue. Strangely enough, the idea of wooing Vegeta wasn’t as repulsive to him as it was frightening – he feared the scorn and the insults that were sure to follow, no matter how he performed. He would have liked to spare himself from the mockery. But right now, sparing himself from the potential physical violence seemed more important – if only slightly.

Yamcha moved a few inches closer, making his knees touch Vegeta’s at the edge of the sofa. Then, concentrating all his willpower into not minding, he picked up Vegeta’s right hand and brought it up to his lips. Softly he kissed the knuckles and the back of the palm. He rotated the hand gently to be able to plant a trail of kisses along the wrist, slowly climbing up towards the elbow. As he proceeded, he placed Vegeta’s wrist on his shoulder, letting his palm rest on the back of his neck. Carefully he put his own right hand on Vegeta’s waist, and with the left felt his way up Vegeta’s arm all the way to his cheek. He leaned closer, tilted his head and pressed his lips on the side of the saiyan’s neck, just at the seam between neck and shoulder.

Yamcha couldn’t help but shudder as Vegeta’s broad chest was pressed against his, and jerked slightly when he felt the man’s left hand land on his lower back. To distract himself – and to expedite the awkward transaction – he began kissing the Saiyan’s neck stronger, opening his mouth wider and tentatively stroking the skin with the tip of his tongue.

Think about Bulma, he told himself, but all the imaginative power in the world wouldn’t have been able to make him believe the veined neck under his mouth or the musky scent filling his nostrils belonged to anyone else than the prince of Saiyans himself. He pressed his lips into the hollow below Vegeta’s ear and was surprised when the other tilted his head to the side. At the same time, Yamcha felt the fingers of the hand on his nape close, grabbing a tuft of his hair, and the arm around his waist pulling him tighter in. While he hadn’t expected Vegeta to simply stay still like a doll, the fact that he was conforming with Yamcha’s movements took him by surprise – and unnerved him in a way he didn’t quite understand. He cursed in his mind as his hands started shaking uncontrollably. There was no way this went unnoticed by Vegeta, on whose cheek Yamcha’s left hand was still resting. To disguise it, the human slid said hand behind the Saiyan’s head and buried it in his hair. It was somewhat softer than he had expected.

In his nervousness, Yamcha momentarily forgot how he had got into the situation and was only concerned with hiding his trepidation from the prince. To avoid letting Vegeta hear his shaky breathing, he brought his mouth from the Saiyan’s ear to his temple. As he planted numerous kisses on the temple and the cheek, he raised his right hand from Vegeta’s side to cup his face, as if holding the other in place would help control his own quivering. Finally, as the side of his mouth brushed over the Saiyan’s lips, Yamcha realized how caught up in his actions he had become, and froze. His eyes flew open, blood rushed to his face, and his heartbeat doubled in tempo. He became overtly conscious of the fact he was immobilized in an embrace, cheek to cheek, with Vegeta of all people. He wondered if he should say something, or just continue this absurd demonstration like he was supposed to. How the hell had he got himself caught up in something like this?

“Go on.”

Yamcha flinched involuntarily when he heard Vegeta’s voice whisper next to his ear. The tone was neutral, soothing even, without impatience or even the prince’s habitual gruffness. Yamcha gulped audibly.

“S…sorry”, he said, in a thin, wheezy voice, and immediately regretted speaking. He closed his eyes again and took a couple of deep breaths. He brought both hands on Vegeta’s cheeks, using his thumbs to caress the sculpted face, and pressed his mouth on Vegeta’s. The prince’s lips were surprisingly smooth, with a velvet-like texture, and they had a very distinct, savoury flavour. He felt the other’s hands move. One arm wrapped itself around his shoulders and the other cupped his cheek, stroking a strand of hair behind his ear. Vegeta held him tightly and, matching the moderate intensity and rhythm, kissed Yamcha back.

As Yamcha felt Vegeta’s lips envelope his, the trembling of his hands spread to his entire body, and he realized that the source of his nervousness was not fear or embarrassment, but simply the unfamiliarity of being touched in such a manner. He scolded himself in his mind, but he couldn’t deny feeling genuine excitement at being embraced like he was, when it’d been so long since he last had been. He wondered what Vegeta was thinking. Was he enjoying this? Or was he just tolerating it, despite his discontentment, for the sake of research? There was nothing for Yamcha to draw a conclusion on – the man was an enigma.

After the kiss had lingered for a minute or so, and its intensity had slightly increased, Vegeta abruptly backed up. Yamcha opened his eyes to see the once again unreadable face in front of him. Overwhelmed with embarrassment, he quickly averted his eyes and removed his hands from the Saiyan’s face. He stood up hastily and took a couple of steps, hung his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Satisfied?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent. He heard a creak from the sofa as Vegeta stood up behind him.

“I think I understood the general idea.”

Aloof, like nothing had happened, as always. Yamcha heard Vegeta walk to the hallway, then the soft rustling as he put on his shoes. The human peeked towards the hallway from the corner of his eye, but Vegeta was hidden behind the corner.

“She wasn’t exaggerating”, he heard the prince say. “You’re good. Goodbye.”

When the door had closed, Yamcha allowed himself to slump into the sofa. He wiped his eyes. His heart was still pounding. He was angry again – angry at Vegeta for being determined to replace him in Bulma’s life so completely he’d go as far as duplicating the way Yamcha touched her, and for having the nerve to actually make Yamcha tell him how to do it. And at the same time, he was ashamed of himself for having found even a sliver of pleasure from being the centre of that man’s attention.

Then again, these days, he wasn’t the centre of anyone’s attention, so he could probably chalk it up to novelty.


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