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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much	By : sefiru Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 12529 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ and I make no money ... only lemonade.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much

By Sefiru

Pairing: G/V

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: D/s, Yaoi

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragonball Z and I make no money, only lemonade.

Pixelgoddess: That’s Goku all around. (you do know I only post on Fridays, right?)

polla: dom!Goku/sub!Vegeta is my specialty. ^^ (sorry, I don’t do email notifications, but I do update like clockwork.)

animeslave18: You do not want to know the worst that Goku can do. Though I might write it eventually …

Celesta SunStar: well, the legal fun has been pushed back a little, but we’re getting there. I hope your foot is feeling better.

This is actually the first half of this chapter; both the chapter and RL ended up containing more than I expected this week, so I’m posting it like this instead of making you all wait.

In this chapter: Goku and Vegeta go on a trip, and Goku reveals a secret.

***

Chapter 12: get thee to a monastery

***

     I am slowly getting used to waking up in Kakarott’s chamber, to feeling my muscles stay warm and loose, instead of coiling instantly to readiness; to his scent, which now fills my days like heady incense. Today he has risen before me; as I fold my blanket and futon, I can hear him on the back porch, talking on his phone while he works the gas grill.

     “…Doing some ki exercises, so don’t be surprised if you can’t sense us,” he is saying. “Okay. Yeah, you too. Bye.” He hangs up as I wander out of the door, lured by the scent of meat.

     “Steak for breakfast?”

     “Yeah, just a light meal.” Light for him, maybe. He slides the steaks onto a pair of plates along with piles of hash browns and carries them over to the canvas sofa, while I grab the ever-present pitcher of ice tea.

      “Ki exercises, huh?”

      “Well, that’s just what I told the guys so they won’t freak out.” All right, now I’m curious. What could be so important that Kakarott would lie about it? He is also dressed in his full Saiyan gear, down to the lizard-skin boots. And naturally, just when I want him to talk, he shuts up for the rest of the meal. I have to sit there and stew.

      Once we have eaten and put away the dishes, he hands me a bundle of blue cloth. “Here, put these on.”

      “Yes, master.” Shaking it out, I discover another set of Saiyan garb – this one in blue and white, my colors, and in my size. With a start, I realize that for all my talk of Saiyan heritage, I’ve never worn one of these costumes before. I dress myself with an odd, deep sense of pride – not the false pride I used to defend myself with, but true pride. I pull on my usual white boots and gauntlets, and stand before him, a Saiyan warrior at last.

     He looks me over with a gleam in his eyes. “Nice.” Then he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against his side. “Now hang on tight, we’re going to take a little trip.” Wait, what? His ki swirls, he presses two fingers to his forehead – and then in a blink, his porch is replaced with a clearing in a forest of trees which I don’t recognize. As my mind is still trying to process this, Kakarott says, “Welcome to the planet Dengar.”

     I gape at him. Somehow, he’s moved us across light years in the blink of an eye, without breaking a sweat. Power. So this is the big secret, the one he doesn’t even want his friends to know. He presses me to him and nuzzles my hair. “Come on, we’ve got people to see.” I look where he is facing, and see a large building on the hill above us. I recognize it from his journal: the Saiyan monastery. I suddenly feel nervous, and drop a step behind Kakarott as he walks towards it.

     The gate opens as we approach and an elderly Saiyan rushes out to meet us. His colors are green and gold; he is wearing a long open robe over his warrior dress. As soon as he gets within speaking distance of Kakarott, he goes down on one knee in the road. “Welcome back to our humble house, Legendary One. We have eagerly awaited your return.”

      “It’s good to see you again too, Brossel.” Kakarott waves at me. “This is Vegeta, who I told you about.”

      “Be welcome in our house, my Prince.” Brossel rises at Kakarott’s signal and ushers us into the building. It is built in a series of connected squares, each with a courtyard at its center. I barely restrain my urge to stare at everything at once, wondering how much of it I will recognize. We walk through two of the courtyards – as Kakarott’s journal described, everyone that crosses our path kneels before him – until we end up in what looks like Brossel’s office. The head monk is playing host, pouring hot drinks and asking about Kakarott’s travels. I am barely paying attention. Kakarott notices my distraction and grins. “Vegeta, go ahead and poke your nose into other people’s business while I talk to Brossel. I’ll call you when I want you.”

       “Yes, master!”

***

     Goku watched, amused, as Vegeta shot out the door with his tail in a curious hook behind him. He had pretty much expected this to happen when he brought Vegeta into an enclave of their native culture. And there was something in it for him, too; either Vegeta would come back brimming with cultural pride, which would make him wild in bed, or he would need to prove that he was good at something other than slaughtering planets … which would make him wild in bed. Although, come to think of it, none of their antics had involved a bed so far.

     “My! He is a nice piece,” Brossel commented.

     Goku waggled a finger at him. “Hands off, old man.”

     “Or you’ll take them off for me, I know.” Brossel grinned. “So, how can we serve you, my Lord?”

     Brossel already knew about most of his family situation, so Goku quickly filled him in on events since his return home. “ … So Chichi is suing me,” he concluded several cups of tea later, “And I’m counter-suing for custody of my son. The first hearing is in three days.”

     “I’m surprised you don’t just kick butt and take names,” Brossel said.

     “Oh I am – according to their rules.” Goku set down his teacup. “Humans are all about rhetoric and debate. That’s where you come in.”

     “Ah.”

     “I want you there as an expert witness on Saiyans, to prove to them I’m not just making this stuff up. Plus you can be all dignified at the lawyers, it’ll drive them nuts.”

     Brossel stroked his chin. “This is starting to intrigue me, my Lord. I expect you have some specifics in mind?”

     “Oh, yes. Pick three or four others to bring with you; figure on staying for a couple of months. Oh, and make sure one of them’s a doctor, there are some things I want to get checked out …”

***

     I prowl the grounds of the monastery, peering into every corner and open door. In one courtyard, two grizzled Saiyans are embroiled in some tactical game involving a table marked out in hexagons; elsewhere there are sparring grounds, a vegetable garden and hen coop, a lookout tower. The library, taking up two whole floors, tempts me, but I have not yet seen everything there is to see. I feel light; the sounds, the scents of this place bring me back to my earliest memories. Memories of a time before Frieza.

     A new sound catches my ear. Music; the light trill of a flute somewhere on the monastery walls. I follow it outside and up a flight of steps to the eastern parapet. An old Saiyan man – everyone here is old – is sitting on the curtain wall; his colors are russet and brown, and his fingers fly over a wooden flute painted to match. I come to a halt and listen. The tune is simple, carefree; it calls to my mind the impression of a stream burbling in the woods. The old man’s fingers dance over the holes, their movement as practiced as any fighter’s kata. The notes are pitched for Saiyan hearing, and the melody swoops and swirls in the rhythm of a waving tail … the tune comes to a close and stops, and I realize that the monk is looking at me.

      “Never heard a Saiyan fife before, eh?” He reaches into the bag at his feet and pulls out another flute, this one plain, dark stained wood. “Come sit down, my boy, I’ll show you how to play.”

      “What? I?”

      “Nah, the man behind ye. Of course I mean you.”

      I? Learn to make such fascinating sounds as those? “I know nothing of music.” And yet I take a few steps towards him.

      “And a crying shame it is, too.” He holds out the flute. “Never too late to start, though.”

      I take it from him. Such a simple thing; a mouthpiece at one end, eight holes on the top, two on the bottom. “I’m Vegeta,” I offer.

     “Aye, I heard. And I’m Garrick.” He taps the wall top beside him, and I sit. “Now, put your fingers over the holes like this.”

***

Because Vegeta really, really needs a hobby.

In the next(ish) chapter: the rest of our visit to the Saiyan monastery. There will be music and sex.
- 11
- 12
- 13
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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much