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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.

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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.

Zofo: I think we all like helpless Vegeta.

animeslave18: carabiners are those rock-climbing spring clip thingies. ^^ I admit, looking back that chapter was a bit short for me, too. This is why I’m changing to Sundays.

In this chapter: WAFF with Vegeta!angst, plus Goku’s plans for the future.

***

Chapter 17: Plans

***

     I am dreaming. I know this because I am standing in a city full of Saiyans, Saiyans roaring and shouting as they run past me towards the sounds of a massive battle. The city buildings block my view of the enemy but I can see smoke and dust rising, buildings crumpling under the assault. Fists clenched, I join the rush into battle. There is no ki, no scent, another sign that this is a dream. I can hear screams of pain now, see Saiyan warriors flung through the air like rag dolls, slamming wetly into the walls above me. I leap over a mound of rubble and stand face to face with … myself. A hundred-foot-tall version of myself, dressed in the armor I wore under Frieza, an unholy sneer twisting his face. The attacks of the swarming Saiyans do not so much as scratch him. He uses ki blasts to slay dozens at once, crushes them under his boots, occasionally taking one in his fist and squeezing him like a rag before throwing him aside. With the clarity of dream logic, I know that if I don’t stop him he will slaughter every member of our race.

      Just as he’s done to so many other races. I snarl and fly up, focusing all my power on the first punch. He bats me away with the back of his hand. I crash through a wall and land, through some bizarre turn of the dream world, in a bakery. Where, to add insult to injury, the pie crusts open like mouths and start laughing at me. A giant hand reaches through the wall at me; I shriek in rage and throw myself at it, punching, tearing, clawing and biting. I can’t even breach my counterpart’s skin. He gets his thumb and forefinger around the scruff of my neck and hauls me out, still kicking and struggling, to dangle a dozen stories in the air. He has a murderous glint in his eye and I know that in a moment he is going to turn his hand over and crush me in his fist.

      And then, subtly at first, the dream begins to change. A golden glow lights the surroundings, gradually becoming brighter. It soaks into me, fills me with new energy. The giant holding me now seems insubstantial, hollow; I slip out of his grasp and float up to his face. I flick him on the nose and he dissolves into ash, blowing away on the gold-glowing breeze.

***

      I wake. The golden glow is here, too, and it is accompanied by Kakarott’s scent. This, I realize, is because I am cradled against his body, curled up in his bed, and he is ascended to Super Saiyan. I blink up at him, unable to form a coherent question.

      “You were having a nightmare,” he explains. The sky outside is still dark; I must have woken him. And instead of punishing me for disturbing his rest, he takes me to him, wraps me in his power.

      “Why?” I ask him.

      “It sucks to fight alone, especially if it’s in your own head.” His hand is cupped around the side of my head, holding me to his chest. When he is ascended like this, I feel no shame in showing weakness. What point would there be in hiding it? And his energy is always warm, so warm … I lived for so long in the cold. I rest my brow against his skin, already drifting back into sleep.

***

      In the morning I wake up alone in Kakarott’s bed, with the quilt drawn up around me. My ki sense finds Kakarott in the kitchen, of course; a moment later, the scent of frying potatoes hits my nose. I wallow in the comfort of the blankets for a bit. Kakarott may be every inch the rugged outdoorsman, but he’s not one to put up with discomfort just to prove he can; it’s no surprise that he has the best bedding his money can buy. And then I recall how I got here.

      One of those startling waves of gratitude rolls over me. No one more powerful ever gave a shit about me, beyond what use I was to them; just like I never gave a shit about anyone weaker than me. The rule I know is that the weak are the tools of the strong. But Kakarott … in his world, the strong also support the weak. I rise from the bed and go to him; I express my gratitude the only way I know how, by dropping to my knees and licking his fingers. He caresses my jaw.

      “You could just say thank you, you know.”

      “Not enough.” How could two short words possibly encompass a concept of such depth, such power? It is no wonder the likes of Frieza avoided having to feel such an emotion; it frightens me.

       Kakarott takes my plate from the table and sets it on the floor beside his chair. “Here.” He knows I need the ritual to give structure to my thoughts. As I eat with my hands clasped behind me, his tail curls gently over my back.

***

      Later, I am lying on the grass with my head in Kakarott’s lap as he lounges against a tree in his yard. In the distance we can sense the Saiyan monks going through their morning practice. “I’m going to talk to Brossel about this when he’s done,” Kakarott says, “but I’ll tell you first. Remember yesterday when I was talking about being the Saiyan god?”

       “Yeah. So you’re seriously thinking about it? You’ll do a better job than I would.”

       “How so?”

       “Oh, come on. You know I don’t have a sense of right and wrong. My standards of behavior come down to what I want and what I can get away with.”

      He grins. “Are those your only standards?”

      “Well …” I flush. Recently, I’ve added a third: whatever pleases Kakarott.

      “Anyway, I’ve talked to Kami a couple of times in the last few weeks, and apparently there’s a ritual to take up the mantle of god of a planet or species. It’s not all that complicated, and it’s supposed to increase your power by a couple orders of magnitude as well as grant mystic knowledge and functional immortality and stuff.”

      “I take it Kami never went through this?”

      “Oh, he did – most of his power is tied up in the Dragonballs, but don’t ask me why he wants to look like an old prune. Anyway, the best part is that you can share the immortality part with some companions. So how about it, think you can stand a few thousand years with me?”

       “Oh, I think I can manage.” My voice is husky with a purr. When I first heard of the Dragonballs, I wanted immortality to keep my race from dying completely; now Kakarott offers me the same thing so that I can watch him rebuild them. I purr louder, and lick him somewhere that definitely isn’t his fingers. He chuckles.

       “Hold that thought, Vegeta, we’re going to have a conference with the monks in a few minutes.”

       “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

       “But they might all want a turn.” He scratches my hair, which makes my tail swish back and forth.

       “Have you got any idea what to do if there aren’t any females left?”

       “I’m going to ask for volunteers and make a wish.”

       Now why didn’t I think of that? “I bet Persil is one of them. He already wants to bear your children.”

       “He hasn’t got enough spine to join the harem.” Kakarott reaches behind him and pulls out a small book. “In the meantime, here. This might give you some ideas.” The cover bears an image of a hand on a bare buttock and the title, in Human letters, The Compleat Slave. I smirk and flip it open.

***

Yes, it’s true – in my last big series I made Kakarott King of the Saiyans; in this one, I’m making him the god! (And if you think Vegeta is going gooey over him now …)

Also, that is a real book, which I have not yet had the chance to read, unfortunately.

Next chapter: Gohan moves in, Kakarott prepares for his new job, and Vegeta gets a lemon.
- 16
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- 18
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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much