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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
- 15
- 16
- 17
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.

Admiral ShadowWolf: yeah, real life sucks. Lemons make it better. ^^

Zofo: yeah, Vegeta is cute like that.

animeslave18: that was one dumbass lawyer. ^^

Bunnybop05: Kakarott wasn’t too sharp before his galactic trip.

kit-kit: hey, you’re number 69!

Thanks to everyone who liked “A Moveable Feast,” too. Sometimes you gotta change things up!

I am half dead right now. But the show must go on!

In this chapter: Lemon, hardly any plot.

***

Chapter 16: Rope

***

      Victory is sweet. The shadows are lengthening across Kakarott’s garden as I lounge with my head on his knee, a large chunk of dinosaur settling into my stomach and listening to the music of Garrick’s fife. He is one of the companions that Brossel brought with him, along with a grizzled old physician called Kail and, oddly enough, Persil. This latter is the one who brought down our dinner, and he presents Kakarott with its be-horned skull with a diffidence somewhat at odds with the stripes still visible on his back. If Kakarott is planning to set himself up as a deity, he already has one devotee. Brossel regales his fellow monks with an blow-by-blow account of the trial – somewhat exaggerated. I’m fairly sure I didn’t “spring at the dastard trailing pure black flames of rage,” though I’ll keep it in mind for the future.

       Once Garrick brings his song to a close, Kakarott stands up. “I think it’s time for me and Vegeta to head in,” he says. I note that it’s hours earlier than his usual bed time; this is promising. With the usual polite phrases, we and the monks part ways – he’s given them a capsule house to stay in, down by his grandfather’s old cabin. As we walk into the house, Kakarott tells me, “Go to the playroom and wait for me.”

       My tail fur bristles out. In mere moments I am naked and kneeling before the white leather bench. The evening sun paints the room with crimson stripes and gleams along the row of brass rings on the bench’s edge. Are those new? I haven’t noticed them before. My pulse races as I wonder what they could be used for … Kakarott is here. He has taken off everything but his pants, and slung over his shoulder is a coil of silky white rope. My breath catches in my throat. He has held me down before, but this is something else. And it brings up bad memories; to be bound, captive, helpless – I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. This is Kakarott; he will not harm me.

       He holds out a hand and I go to him, pressing my face to his fingers as is becoming a ritual between us. “Get on the bench,” he orders softly. “On your back, hands above your head.”

       “Yes, master.” I lay myself out on his altar, trying to slow my racing heart. Kakarott stands at the end of the bench above my wrists and takes the rope in his hands. He divides the coil into two equal halves. Then he places my hands back to back and lays the rope’s center in the crooks of my thumbs. He wraps the line down, crosses it at the edge of the palms, up, crossed again at the wrist. The rope is soft and slick, perhaps even real silk; its slide against my skin makes me shiver. Kakarott pulls a karabiner out of his pocket and clips the two sides of the line to one of the rings on the bench. He brings the free ends over each wrist, crossed in the middle, then under the other wrist to the sides of the bench; again he clips them down, pulling them taut as he does so. Now I’m stuck.

       He straddles my chest, startling me with his weight. He brings the ropes across my forearms, first over, then under, and fastens them down once more. Then the same again, across my elbows. He has a wicked gleam in his eye as he works. He pulls the lines across my shoulders, one at a time, lifting my head with his free hand to do so. By this time I’m panting with half panic, half arousal; he bends down to lick my forehead. Another pair of clips, and then he brings the ropes across my chest. Moving down, he uses twists and clips to shape the lines into a star pattern, one that frames my nipples and navel.

      Now he spreads my legs apart and uses the two lines to pin them to the sides of the bench, at the thigh, the knee, the calf, and the ankle, clipped down at each turn. He goes over the ropes again, adjusting the tension to his liking, then finishes it all off with a clove hitch at each ankle. There is just enough give in the ropes that I can squirm a little, that I can feel their slick texture on my skin. The only parts of me that are unbound are my head and tail.

       Kakarott steps away for a moment, and returns with a second, smaller coil of rope. He takes the end of it and ties a clove hitch at the very base of my tail. He makes a loop in the rope and draws my tail through it; it catches a hand’s breadth from the first knot. Another loop, another hand’s breadth down, and so on to the end of my tail. As he is doing this, a strange calm comes over me. I am safe and guarded in Kakarott’s hands; the ropes are like caresses from his fingers, all over, all at once. I tremble, and writhe against the bonds. At last my tail is clipped down as well, and, now fully naked, he seats himself between my thighs. I look up at him and feel no fear, only wonder that this magnificent creature, this Legendary One, has chosen me for his pleasure.

      He begins to touch me. Just touch me, long, slow strokes with the full palms of his hands. The pleasure this brings is like nothing I’ve ever known; a deep, dense pleasure that soaks into my core. The kind of pleasure that eases hunger and washes away pain. Without deciding to, I start to purr. He speaks to me softly, meaningless nonsense, his voice and his scent surrounding me like a balm. My body aches for him; my purr becomes broken with mewls and groans, my skin flushed and throbbing. Need … master …

       He senses that I am ready. He slides into me with a grunt, and I answer with a cry of pleasure. Now Kakarott is within me, I have all I need. My instinct is to move, to thrash, but he has taken that away from me, leaving only the experience of the sensations he fills me with. The ropes dig into and slide against my skin, a counterpoint to his firm hands. My climax builds slowly like a wave in the ocean, and when it breaks over me my vision goes dark for a moment. My sight clears in time for me to see Kakarott’s look of ecstasy as I feel him pulse and spurt inside me. Pride; I do this to him, I exist for his use.

        He rests for a moment once he is spent, his weight pressing down on my chest. It’s a mere moment’s work to release me. I lick at the fingers that granted me such joy; it seems completely appropriate to follow him on hands and knees to the bedroom, where I curl up on the mat at the foot of his bed. In the morning, I know that my awe and wonder will have faded. But for tonight, I am satisfied; the rumble of my purr lulls me to sleep.

***

I sketched it out before I wrote it. If you can’t picture the tail binding, it’s lind of like a row of cast-on stitches on a knitting needle.

Next chapter: No idea; either something WAFFy or sparring. Or both.
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much