Kiss Lessons

BY : Grezi
Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1823
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.

For the next three nights, Yamcha slept poorly. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts kept taking him back to Vegeta. He imagined the prince repeating everything he had done, to Bulma. And honestly, when Yamcha really thought about it, it hadn’t really been that much. As much as he had tried to recreate the way he used to be with Bulma, he hadn’t been able to overcome his modesty. His touches had been careful and his kiss on Vegeta’s lips had been shy – try as he might, he hadn’t achieved the level of familiarity he’d had with Bulma. And how could he? They had been together for almost a decade, he knew her inside and out. He didn’t know Vegeta at all. That much had become clear.

Occasionally, Yamcha felt better about himself – after all, there had been absolutely nothing meaningful about the encounter, so second-guessing himself was pointless. But the next moment, he would find himself thinking about how much more invested and interesting he could have been. Then he scolded himself again – he didn’t need to be thinking about it. Whether Vegeta had found it enjoyable or not didn’t matter. He hadn’t wanted to kiss the Saiyan in the first place. It was insignificant, so of course it wouldn’t be anything to write home about. It took passion and desire to make someone really feel good. And Vegeta probably had plenty of those for Bulma. Good for them.

And then, just when he was at peace with himself and drifting into sleep, Yamcha remembered how it had felt to be held. Just held. As if someone cared.

He cursed in his mind as he flipped over his pillow and plunged into it face first. That stupid, arrogant, insensitive oaf! He had no idea just how much his meaningless gesture had managed to mess with Yamcha’s feelings.


Four days after the incident, after he had finally got a good night’s sleep, at half past eleven in the evening, Yamcha heard the doorbell ring. Instantly, an ominous feeling flushed over him. He was sitting on his bed, listening to a late-night radio show, dressed in the loose shorts he liked to sleep in. It was late. Not many of his acquaintances would dare visit that late, especially without calling in advance. Yamcha checked the screen of his phone on the nightstand. No missed calls. A chill ran up his spine. The doorbell rang again.

This can’t be happening, he thought as he stood up and grabbed a short-sleeved shirt from the footboard of the bed. As he pulled the shirt over his head, the doorbell rang a third time, then a fourth, their intervals shortening exponentially. Yamcha switched on the light in the hallway and peeked through the door viewer.

“Oh my God”, he murmured to himself before raising his voice to ask: “What are you doing here?”

“Let me in”, said Vegeta from behind the door, and rang the doorbell again.

“Stop ringing”, Yamcha snapped, as the bell now sounded right next to his ear. As he should have guessed, Vegeta replied by pressing the bell button repeatedly, causing a near continuous noise. Yamcha yanked the door open. “Stop it! You’re disturbing the whole building!”

Without a word, Vegeta shoved him out of his way and entered. Indifferent to Yamcha’s resistance, the Saiyan advanced resolute like a locomotive, all the way to the living room sofa. Gritting his teeth, Yamcha closed the door and followed the intruder to the dimly lit living room.

“You can’t do this”, he said, struggling to remain calm. “You can’t just –“

“It didn’t work”, declared Vegeta, completely ignoring what the other was saying. “She wasn’t satisfied. I made a fool of myself.”

Yamcha began another word of protest, but knowing it to be futile, settled for pressing his index fingers to his temples and taking the deepest breath of his life so far.

“Okay”, he sighed. “What went wrong?”

“I was distracted”, grunted Vegeta, glaring at Yamcha like he was to blame. “I couldn’t concentrate on her because I was thinking about you.”

Yamcha’s stomach turned inside out.

“I couldn’t stay in the moment because I was trying to remember what you had done”, Vegeta continued, unaware of any unintended implications in his phrasing. “She said I was clumsy. She laughed at me.”

The clarification made Yamcha sigh of relief, and immediately he felt like a fool for having made any assumptions. He pinched the bridge of his nose – both to gather his thoughts and to hide the fact he was blushing.

“Look, you don’t just learn these things in a snap”, he said. “What matters most is that you’re really there with the other person and listen to them. And when it comes to any so-called techniques, you just – you’ve just got to try and discover. It… it just takes practice.”

“Exactly”, stated Vegeta and stood up, vigorous and determined. “That’s what I’m here for. Practice.”

“What?” Yamcha said quietly, sensing danger coming his way.

“I fumbled because I never got to try out your tips myself”, said Vegeta, and pointed to the sofa. “I’m going to practice with you. Sit down.”

“Wha- no!” Yamcha raised his hands in front of him, his face turning from pink to pale. “Wait just a moment – you said that once I did what you asked, you’d leave me alone!”

“No, I didn’t. I agreed to leave – but I said nothing about not coming back”, said Vegeta, smirking ever so slightly. “Besides, last time we covered mostly pre-kiss things, which was your suggestion. You never actually taught me what I wanted to learn. So essentially, I got ripped off on this deal.”

“There’s no deal!” Yamcha exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just barge in and demand things from me like I’m somehow obliged to you! I’m not!”

“Sit down”, the prince repeated his command. “This time I do it and you give feedback.”

“No”, said Yamcha, not even convincing himself.

“Sit”, Vegeta ordered, his voice solid as a rock.

“Do we even speak the same language?” Yamcha moaned as he buried his face in his hands in anguish. The frustration of having his every word completely ignored was about to burst him to bits – he felt so bad he wanted to cry, but he knew better than to think appealing to Vegeta’s compassion would have any effect. He also knew the more he resisted, the angrier Vegeta became, so it was best to indulge when he was primarily interested in something else than punching in Yamcha’s teeth.

He just wants to practice, the human told himself, admitting defeat. The Saiyan probably didn’t see any difference between training your physical prowess and honing your face-sucking skills – and he obviously didn’t care if Yamcha did.

“There’s an easy way and a painful way about this”, Vegeta growled.

“Fine, God, fine!” barked Yamcha, once again swallowing his exasperation. His pulse was racing. He didn’t know how he could possibly get himself to think about romance when he was about to split with rage. He needed a second alone to get a hold of himself. He turned and started for the bedroom, saying under his breath:

“I’ll be right back.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” snarled Vegeta immediately.

“Bathroom! Geez”, Yamcha snarled. “Just try and control your cravings for one goddamn minute!”

Vegeta snorted in response. When Yamcha had disappeared into the bedroom – where the entrance of the bathroom was located – the Saiyan prince let his eyes wander around the room. There was a standing light in the corner next to the television screen. He stepped over and lit it. It cast a soft, warm light. In its illumination, Vegeta could make out the outlines of the kitchen; the appliances on the counter, the small round dining table and the two chairs next to it. The kitchen was extremely neat. The whole apartment was – in fact, there were so few things in it, it almost seemed like a temporary home. He wondered if the human kept his belongings to a minimum because he spent half of his year outside the city. Where did he go, Vegeta wondered, out there in the wilderness?

Suddenly he heard a faint noise from the bedroom’s direction. Water running into the sink – and after that, the sound of brushing one’s teeth. For a second, Vegeta thought back to what he’d eaten that day.

When he glanced at the bedroom door, his eyes fell on the trophy cabinet that stood in the space between the sofa and the bedroom. He walked over to take a closer look. The four shelves of the cabinet were protected by a pair of glass doors. Each shelf carried several cups, medals, statuettes, glass sculptures and other kinds of rewards. But unlike everything else in the apartment, they were completely unorganized – the medals were in messy bundles, their ribbons tangled, and the trophies faced the walls or lay on their sides. Vegeta tilted his head. The handles of the glass doors had dust gathered on them, like they hadn’t been touched for quite a while.

In the bathroom, Yamcha finished brushing his teeth, wiped his mouth with a paper tissue and blew his nose. He felt like a complete idiot. He had no reason to care if his breath smelled. He’d eaten fish that day, but it had been white fish, and he’d had tea and other things to drink afterwards. Plus, he didn’t need to try and be pleasant to Vegeta. But he didn’t want to be at the receiving end of any witty commentary either, and the one thing he did know about Vegeta was that no topic of jeer was too petty for him. The human sighed deep, looked at his reflection and shook his head at the miserable man in the mirror. Who was this loser and when had he started living here?

When Yamcha emerged from the bedroom, he found Vegeta standing in front of the trophy cabinet. Not wanting to hear what the warrior thought of his current profession, the human walked past him and sat down on the sofa. As he did, he heard Vegeta say:

“These are displayed poorly. You can’t tell which is which.”

“I know which is which”, answered Yamcha indifferently. Vegeta looked at him with a curious frown, but said nothing. He followed the human around the sofa and sat down.

“Now, let’s get down to it”, he said. Again, his choice of words evoked all kinds of uncomfortable feelings in Yamcha, who wished with all his might that his face would not be so prone to blushing. But Vegeta appeared indifferent. “Let’s begin by reviewing what you told me last time.”

With great discomfort, Yamcha repeated to his best memory all that he had said about preparations. Vegeta nodded every now and then, his face serious. The way he was listening so keenly now made Yamcha feel even worse about how the prince had so perfectly disregarded his refusal earlier.

When Yamcha finished, fairly certain he’d repeated everything he’d said four days prior, Vegeta nodded.

“Good”, said the prince. “Now, we practice.”

With those words, he grabbed the other man by the back of the head and yanked him forward, and before Yamcha could utter a single syllable, latched his mouth on the human’s neck. Compared to the rowdiness of his initiative, the kiss itself was surprisingly tender, yet sultry. Vegeta’s velvet-like lips nibbled Yamcha’s skin firmly but sensually. The unexpectedly pleasant sensation left Yamcha’s mouth hanging open in astonishment. The Saiyan’s warm breath on his earlobe and the soft smacking as a resilient kiss after another was planted on his neck made Yamcha’s insides tingle. After savouring the neck and shoulder area for a generous moment, Vegeta took Yamcha’s hand and started kissing it, occasionally so intensely that Yamcha wasn’t sure if the Saiyan wasn’t in fact trying to draw blood from the veins of his wrist. When Yamcha dared to glance up at him, he noticed Vegeta’s eyes were closed. Was he thinking about Bulma, imagining her in Yamcha’s stead? He must be, the human thought – he wouldn’t be so absorbed in this otherwise…

“How was that?” asked Vegeta suddenly, backing off. Yamcha blinked. He’d forgotten he was supposed to be surveying quality.

“Uh, I think that was p-pretty good”, he muttered, not-so-subtly covering the faint flush on his face. “I – I’m sure she’d like that.”

As those words left his mouth, Yamcha’s trail of thought was suddenly halted. This was about Bulma. If it really, truly had been her in his place here, then everything Vegeta had just done – would it really have been enough for her? Yamcha himself may have been overwhelmed simply by the novelty and weirdness of the situation, but Vegeta and Bulma were a couple. They’d been together for a while. When he’d been with Bulma, would he have been satisfied with treating her like Vegeta had just now? As much as he hated being pressured into this kind of position, a curious sense of pride was telling him that since he had to do it, he might as well do it well.

“With that said”, he continued, adopting a slightly more confident posture. “There’s still room for more invention and dynamicity.”

Vegeta tilted his head to the side, and his eyes narrowed in curiosity.

“For example, feel free to alter the pressure of your kisses”, Yamcha continued. “Try going between softer and stronger. Don’t feel like you can’t afford to step down a notch when you’re moving on to a different part of her body. Varying the intensity will keep it unpredictable and interesting to her. Also, you can totally afford being more active with your hands. I – I probably didn’t give a very good example last time, though…”

“Like, how?” Vegeta asked. “What would she like?”

“Well, uh…” Yamcha mumbled, feeling a fresh dose of blood rush towards his face again. “She likes being embraced, and c-caressed and touched… f-for example, on her…uh…”

“Out with it”, snapped Vegeta when Yamcha’s voice faded. The human hung down his head, closed his eyes and listed quickly:

“Her hips, breasts, chin, face and legs. F-for example…”

As his voice disappeared again, Yamcha heard Vegeta mumble in approval. Not wanting to allow the prince to ask for any more details on the matter, he cleared his throat and muttered:

“You guys have been together for a while now, so you should be careful not to start taking things for granted. You should always convince yourself you’re discovering something for the first time. Of course, here, with – with me, it’s – it is all for the f… first – you know, so – s-so just try and be the same with her.”

That came out somehow wrong, Yamcha agonized in his mind and turned to look away, abandoning all subtlety. Convinced that his face was currently undistinguishable from a very ripe tomato, he tried to lighten up the weirdness by playfully mumbling:

“W-with the exception of course, that she – that you actually like her.”

Vegeta was silent for way too long for Yamcha’s liking. Though he normally despised the prince’s arrogant attitude, right now he would have welcomed one of his cheeky remarks or smug chuckles.

Just when Yamcha was about to break the silence himself, his hand was picked up lightly. He felt the prince’s velvety lips press themselves softly onto his palm and heard how the Saiyan inhaled deep. Then, each of his fingers received their own meeting with the prince’s mouth. Yamcha felt how their fingers were laced as he prince proceeded to explore the wrist and arm delicately, intimately – so sensually it made Yamcha’s skin break out in goose bumps. The human’s arm was gently pulled as the man beside him moved closer, and then Yamcha felt the weight of Vegeta’s other hand land on his thigh. As the kisses advanced up his unclothed arm, the hand began to slide up and down his leg, feeling up the top and side of his thigh. Yamcha’s heart began beating faster and he felt a fluttering sensation at the bottom of his stomach. It was different from before, Vegeta’s touch. Completely different. It was exploring, palpating, concentrated and unrushed. Like he was –

Yamcha turned his head to be able to glance at the prince just as his lips separated from the human’s upper arm. Unlike before, Vegeta’s eyes were now open, and as soon as Yamcha turned his head, fixated on his. When their eyes met, Yamcha was taken over with an all-encompassing shudder. Vegeta’s hand moved from Yamcha’s leg to his lower abdomen as the prince nuzzled his forehead against Yamcha’, his eyes still open, watching and breathing in the human like he was – as he was – discovering him for the first time.

The shudder took refuge in Yamcha’s feet and remained there. Vegeta laid down kisses on his temple and cheek and Yamcha closed his eyes, finding the eye contact unbearable – he felt too exposed. Vegeta left a trail of kisses from his hairline down to his ear. When the prince slid his tongue along his jawline, Yamcha couldn’t help arching his neck back over the backrest of the sofa. As he did, Vegeta suddenly devoured his neck, and Yamcha visibly jumped at the stimulating sensation, letting out a surprised gasp. He felt Vegeta’s knees squeeze his legs on both sides and realized the prince had climbed on top of him. The trembling of his feet became instantly stronger as the Saiyan’s hands travelled up his sides, fingertips brushing against the bare skin under his shirt, and Yamcha found his own hands clutching onto Vegeta’s clothes. The prince’s kisses alternated between hungry and fervent and soft and svelte, and momentarily he flicked out his tongue, evoking more involuntary sounds and flinches from the human. Yamcha felt his heart was ready to jump out of his chest when the prince cupped his face, pressed a thumb on his chin to coax open his mouth and seized him into a full-fledged kiss.

“Ow! Ow, jeez, back off!”

Vegeta leaned back and stood up from the sofa. He looked down at Yamcha, who covered his mouth with his hands.

“Sheesh, man”, the human groaned. “Were you actually trying to tear my lip off? Ow, damn…”

I think I’m beginning to see the root of the problem here, he pondered while licking the inside of his lower lip to ease the throbbing pain. Vegeta frowned and pursed his mouth in a comically immature manner. When Yamcha had tended to his lip, which he bet would have a bruise the following morning, he sighed and said:

“Look, it’s not like can’t do that at all. Sucking on the lower lip is a nice accent, and Bulma probably likes it, but you should… shouldn’t use that quite much force. Also, I recommend you don’t involve your teeth.”

“Well, show me how to do it then”, Vegeta snarled, speaking up for the first time in a while. He seemed annoyed. Yamcha’s mouth opened but no sound came out. His body was still quivering. There was a part of him that was intrigued by the idea of continuing where they’d left off, but an even bigger part of him was busy listing reasons why he shouldn’t feel intrigued. He couldn’t deny the fact that Vegeta’s approach just now had made him feel… something. He didn’t really know what to call it – it wasn’t unpleasant per se, but he didn’t exactly feel good either. ‘Vulnerable’ seemed closest to the truth. And he had a premonition that being subjected to more of that feeling would not end up well for him in the long run. He had already reacted more than he had wanted to, and knowing he wasn’t entirely in control of himself made him sincerely frightened – mainly because he had no idea what it might lead to. Suddenly, getting ridiculed by Vegeta for being so weak-willed or easy to manipulate seemed like the nicest outcome.

As Yamcha was trying to get his thoughts together, Vegeta sat back down next to him, arms crossed. Despite feeling very contradicted, Yamcha figured it was best to get to it when the prince was still in a relatively good mood, and when he himself still felt compliant. Before Vegeta could spoil the moment with his comments, he grabbed the Saiyan’s head and plunged for his mouth. He thought he heard a stifled murmur of surprise from the other, but the inside of his head was currently such a mess he could very well have imagined it. He tried to picture Bulma, but once again it was impossible – not only because of the way Vegeta felt and sounded and tasted, but also because the sea of unsettling thoughts occupying his brain derived straight from the Saiyan’s presence. Yamcha was determined to do his best, though. He went from gentle caresses to vigorous suckling, putting all the colours of the rainbow into the kiss without even using his tongue. That, he thought to himself, was going to need its own lesson, judging by the evidence so far. He ended his performance by enveloping Vegeta’s lower lip and pulling it, firmly but gently, before releasing the Saiyan from the liplock.

When he withdrew from the kiss, he was rather pleased with himself. And even Vegeta seemed, for the first time ever in Yamcha’s presence, quite impressed. When Yamcha sat back, rubbing his lips with his fingers – his lower lip was still throbbing with the aftermath of Vegeta’s rough love – the prince remained in place, eyes widened and staring at Yamcha. Finally, he turned away and scratched his head.

“Hmm”, he simply muttered. “Very well.”

For the first time that night, Yamcha had a chance to look at Vegeta when the prince’s mind was elsewhere. He was deep in thought, but his brow was creaseless and he seemed less stern than usual. Yamcha had probably never seen Vegeta like that – so unalerted.

He suddenly felt very thirsty and suppressed a cough, which drew Vegeta’s attention, and when the Saiyan turned to look at him, Yamcha could see the rare moment was over.

“Do you… want a glass of water?” he asked coyly as he stood up from the sofa. Vegeta mumbled, and it could’ve meant anything, so Yamcha poured two glasses just in case. When he was in the darkness of the kitchen filling the glasses, he realized that beads of sweat were running down his temples, and the behinds of his knees and elbows were slimy with sweat. The t-shirt he was wearing felt tacky and uncomfortable. He brought the glass of water to Vegeta, who took it without a word and emptied it in one go. Yamcha sat down on the sofa with his near-empty glass still in hand. He peeked into the bedroom, where he could make out the clock of the radio. It was almost one in the morning.

“Good session”, the prince stated as he put his glass on the corner of the television stand. “I can work with this.”

“Call first next time, will you?” remarked Yamcha, realizing only after he’d said it what he had said. It seemed that Vegeta realized it too, for the prince turned his head sharply as Yamcha tried to hide behind his water-glass. Why did he assume there was going to be a next time? Did he just expect it, based on Vegeta’s personality? Or did he – no. He hadn’t wanted there to be a first time, nor a second time, let alone a next time. Right?

Waiting for Vegeta to comment was, once again, excruciating.

“Good night.”

When the door had closed and he was alone again, Yamcha sighed extremely deeply. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been holding his breath ever since he’d told Vegeta to call ‘next time’. He was grateful that Vegeta hadn’t jumped on his words, but even more he was puzzled. In any other conversation they’d ever had, which weren’t numerous, the prince had not bypassed a chance to rag and be nasty to him, especially if he’d said something silly. But ever since Vegeta had presented his request – or demand, more like it – there had been no belittling, no name-calling, no condescending tone or sarcasm. Well, aside the occasional casual threat. He had even indirectly complimented Yamcha. Unbelievable as it was, it seemed that Vegeta actually, sincerely gave value to Yamcha’s wisdom.

Not a lot of value, perhaps, but value nonetheless.

To Vegeta, maybe it really is just about training a skill, Yamcha wondered as he turned on the water of the shower. Maybe he should feel flattered that Vegeta wanted to learn from him, even if the sport was an unusual one.


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