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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: No, not Vegeta. Goku’s having too much fun with him. ^^

animeslave18: yeah, Gohan is Teh Cute in this one. Don’t worry, no main characters are getting a Bridget dropped on them. And … yeah, slave Vegeta, mmmmmmmmm ^^

topbear: I don’t like how a lot of fics have kind=weak and strong=jerk … people should know better. The next DB fic is also G/V with slave!Vegeta, just with quite a different scenario. (your husband took your computer? Meanie.)

Happy Holidays, all! I hope you had a good time, or some great swag, or both. *passes around massive bowl of chocolates* Enjoy!

In this chapter: Goku is God (but you knew that already)

***

Chapter 19: Cloudless Dawn

***

     It’s sometime after midnight when Kakarott wakes me with a jolt of ki. I come alert at once; there is only one reason to be rousing me at this hour. It’s time. “I’m going to get the monks,” he says. “Take the stuff and meet us at the hill.”

     “Yes, master.” I take a moment to straighten the bedding, then dress in my warrior costume. The tip of my tail lashes back and forth; my mind buzzes with curiosity. It has come as a surprise to discover that I am an immensely curious creature. I can hardly wait to find out what will happen – what will Kakarott look like? How much power will he have? And what will he do to me with it?

     The materials for the ascension ritual are stored, incongruously, in a straw beach bag with lime green trim. I pick it up as I exit the house and close the door behind me. The site Kakarott has chosen is a flat-topped hill in our sparring ground, by now stripped bare of plants, soil or stones; as required, the sky is completely cloudless. A quarter moon hangs overhead, backed by the stars of the galactic arm. The only sounds are the trickle of a nearby stream and the droning of late summer insects.

     Kakarott arrives with the monks – technically he only needs three of us as witnesses, but nobody wants to miss the event. Only Gohan is still sleeping, since the amount of ki being flung around will likely be too intense for him. Not to mention the consequences if anything goes wrong. Kakarott greets me with a brief nuzzle to the top of my head. “Let’s get started,” he says.

     “You did warn all your jittery little humans about this, right?” The last thing we need is a pack of martial artists rushing out to “help” us.

     “I told them we’re doing experimental training.” Hn. That was even partly true. Using a rope and peg and the box of sea salt, the monks lay out the diagram according to Kakarott’s directions. He walks around the circle twice, checking it, then says, “It’s good. I’m going to get changed; you guys take care of the other thing.”

     He takes the length of plain cotton and heads for the stream. The other thing he means is a bowl of Saiyan blood; the monks and I had several fights over who would provide it, until Kakarott told us all to contribute. I set the porcelain bowl on the ground and hand out a pack of fresh razor blades. One after another, we slash our arms and let our blood flow into the bowl. Saiyan healing quickly closes the shallow wounds; I start swirling the bowl to keep the blood from clotting too soon. It’s all so deceptively simple, a ritual that anyone could carry out. But is it?

      When Kakarott returns, the sky is beginning to brighten. He is dressed only in the cotton cloth, knotted around his waist, and his skin is freshly scrubbed. He puts the rest of his clothes away in the tote bag; his eyes are narrow, focused. “Last part.”

      This is Brossel’s task. He takes the bowl of blood from me, dips a finger in it, and starts drawing on Kakarott’s shoulders. The design is supposed to represent our species; in this case, symbols representing the Legendary and other figures of myth. The shapes of moons, tails, ki flares, fangs and claws Kakarott’s chest, shoulders and back. Brossel adds a final curlicue and sets the bowl aside. Kakarott steps into the center of the circle, facing east. Then, after several minutes of restless waiting, the sun breaks over the horizon.

***

     Goku wasn’t sure what he expected to happen. Kami hadn’t been able to tell him much – only that something would communicate with him during the ritual. Sure enough, as the first rays of morning appeared, he sensed a … presence. It had no physical being, almost no ki, but it was there, and it felt of greeting.

      Who are you? He wondered.

      It was the collective spirit of the Saiyan people. It wasn’t sentient, not even truly aware, but it knew him and understood that he was its prospective god.

      The ideas came without words, directly into his mind; he supposed he should get used to that. But was he truly right for the job, or was he simply the first Saiyan to step into a salt circle at dawn?

     No. When it came time for a Saiyan god to rise, two children were born on the same day. One with all the soul of the Legendary and none of the power; the other with all the power and none of the soul. Goku was the child of soul, an through the strength of his soul he had gained the power as well.

     Really. And what about the other child?

     He still lived, and would no doubt be enraged that Goku had surpassed him.

     Well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. What he wanted now was to make his family and his people prosper. So if he could get on to the testing that he was sure was part of this ritual …

     How silly. He had been judged already … and this mantle should suit him well.

***

At first nothing seems to happen. Kakarott stands motionless as the sun crawls higher; slowly, a strange fog of energy builds around him. Then, as the sun’s lower edge clears the horizon, his ki explodes. His hair flares gold and his eyes teal, but his transformation is not complete. The blood painted on his skin flashes bright and vaporizes; the salt making up the circle puffs into the air. His aura blasts the rest of us to the ground; the monks shield their eyes against the hurricane, but not I. I can’t tear my gaze away. Da – fu – I don’t know a strong enough word for how he looks. His hair has lengthened into a mane that flows down his back, and his muscles have thickened and hardened. The glow of his ki is plainly visible in the air; if measured in ki levels, it would surely be in the billions. My master and god is here before me; I crawl in the dust at His feet and feel no shame. This is a power that could destroy Frieza with His smallest finger, that even the Prince of Saiyans could not hope to stand against. I am at His mercy. And it feels good.

His weight shifts. He turns, and looks straight at me. His teal gaze pierces me like a spear, shattering rational thought. A tiny sound, born of sub-male instinct, escapes me: the cry of a harem-slave to his master. I will abase myself before Him. I will offer myself to His will. I tremble with joy that He has not crushed me where I lie. I burn with desire for His touch. I stretch out towards Him, though my body can barely move, reaching … He stoops over me. He seizes me by the sides and lifts me; my weight is nothing to His power. The mere touch of His fingers leaves me wet and hard.

He sets me astride his hips, His arms circling my back to hold me steady. I cry out again, this time in pure need. I am mad with pleasure; He could strike me dead at this moment and I wouldn’t care. I would worship Him forever if He will only grant me completion. One of His hands cups the back of my head, tipping it back; I follow and bare my throat to Him. His lips close over my vein, sucking and nibbling. I scream as climax rips through me; for several long moments I know nothing but my body’s pleasure.

I return to a semblance of coherence when Kakarott’s power starts to recede – not fading, but being contained, until outwardly his ki is no higher than before. But where his skin touches mine, I can still feel the tingle of power that’s no longer merely mortal. His hair is once again in its black spikes, and his eyes are dark – but within them are endless depths, as if they had seen the whole universe and comprehended its meaning. And for whatever reason, he has chosen me as his companion.

I lean my head against his shoulder. “It worked.”

“Yes, it did.”

I am drained by the intense energy that has been flowing through me, but I manage a grin. At long last, the Saiyans have their god … but I had him first.

***

I think I’m jealous.

As I’ve mentioned, this fic will be going on hiatus after the next chapter, which will be (as usual) smut, smut, and more smut. Previews of my next projects will be attached.
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- 19
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Vegeta Doth Protest Too Much